


Shelter This Weather

by warbrarian



Series: wash away the rain [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Jealousy, M/M, No Healing Cock, Sex, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M, mixing up my TNG tech with my TOS tech, there’s a little joke reference to magical healing cock but there’s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-05-29 13:24:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 70,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15074093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warbrarian/pseuds/warbrarian
Summary: A sequel to A Walking Sleep, a story I wrote many years ago, which I summarized like this:Aliens want to sacrifice a virgin; Chekov is a virgin.This story is what comes next. It's fallout, and then it's something else.





	1. Not to Cry

The efficient, Starfleet regulation lighting in the transporter bay seemed startlingly, painfully bright, and Jim staggered backward, blinking viciously. It felt like he had sand trapped beneath his eyelids, but it was just exhaustion, so deep and searing that he couldn’t manufacture tears to ease the burn.

Jim shook himself, forcing his eyes to stay open, to let the light chase away the shadows of dim cells and the green haze of the Denrovian dawn. He was on the Enterprise, his ship, and he was a captain, not a prisoner. Here, he made the decisions, took action. Here, he could protect his crew.

His voice came out as little more than a whisper, rough and frayed, but his tone was firm, his authority ringing clear, and he was relieved to hear it. "Mr. Scott, Lieutenant Riegan," he said, nodding at each of them respectively, "thanks for bringing us home. You're excused."

Riegan, who'd been at least trying not to stare at them, turned immediately for the door, but Scotty raised his eyebrows, bristling at the curt dismissal. "Captain, you canna expect me not to ask--"

"Dismissed, Mr. Scott," Jim said, still calm, professional, but he met Scotty's gaze with eyes like iron. He had the entire Starfleet command structure backing him up, here.

Scotty's mouth opened, and Jim could see that he was offended, but more than that, he was worried. He wanted to know what had happened--after all, these people were his best friends. He wanted assurance that everyone was okay. Jim wanted the same damned thing. But he was too tired, too angry, too _hurt_ to deal with insubordination from one of his _own damned crew_ , and he gritted his teeth against his natural inclination to yell, to threaten, to hit.

"Dammit!" came a shout from behind him, and Jim flinched, certain that it was his voice he was hearing, that he hadn't been as successful in reigning himself in as he'd thought. But then Bones spoke again, his voice ragged, furious, "It's none of your damned business. Get the hell out."

Jim didn't turn around, but he knew from the way Scotty froze for a half second, then closed his mouth and stepped out of the transporter bay, that Bones must've looked like something wild, something broken, a man on the edge.

Jim swallowed, nodding, shooting for 'business as usual' and falling just a little short. "I want to see everyone in the conference room in eight hours. I recommend that you spend the intervening time sleeping, but whatever you do, do it--just, don't talk to anyone, and don't file any damned reports until after we meet." He glanced over at Chekov, who was paler than any human who hadn't experienced massive blood loss had any right to be, and then back at Bones, whose beard was dark against his skin and who had a crazed look in his eye that, for some reason, called to mind an image of a terrified horse, wearing blinders and rearing up. "Make that 12 hours," Jim muttered, then stepped off the transporter pad.

Spock nodded sharply, but no one said a word as they filed out of the transporter room. Jim had half expected Scotty to be standing outside of the doors, waiting to ambush them with well-meaning inquiries that would be felt like knives, but there was no one there. He watched Spock and Uhura walk side-by-side down the hall, watched Chekov moving--shakily, and too fast, a dangerous combination--toward his quarters with Sulu creeping along behind him, maintaining distance between them but definitely and carefully following Chekov, even though their quarters were in opposite directions.

Jim had been thinking of following Chekov himself, just to make sure that--just to make sure, but Sulu would do it better, whatever it was. Jim was grateful that Sulu was such a good guy, such a really good guy, because he honestly didn't know how he could even begin to deal with Chekov, or if he would be the right person to be there for him, considering that he'd been...a part of it, and Jim wasn’t a psychiatrist, and he had no idea how Chekov would be feeling, but he'd heard words like "post-traumatic stress" and "trauma trigger", and he sure as hell didn't want to make anything worse.

Jim's eyes slid over to Bones, who was leaning against a wall, his gaze trained on Chekov, his jaw clenched so hard it had to be painful. Jim closed his eyes for just a second, gathering whatever residual strength he could reach, because Chekov wasn't the only person who was seriously hurting here, and Bones--he was Bones's Sulu, after all, his best friend, and Jim liked to think of himself as a good guy, too.

"That's not good for your teeth, you know," Jim said quietly, moving to stand at Bones's shoulder. "Kovac isn't going to be happy when you show up in his office needing enamel regeneration."

"Screw Kovac," Bones said, but there was no energy in the curse, and Jim looked around, and seeing only the backs of his crewmen who already knew everything there was to know, reached out and slipped his arm around Bones's waist, leaning in close to him.

Bones's whole body sagged, his muscles untensing, his head coming forward to rest on Jim’s chest. Jim stood straighter, thinking strong thoughts, and pulled Bones tight against him. Minutes passed and they stayed like that, a statue of folding and unfolding, until Jim realized that they were there, out in the open, and anyone could come by, see them like this, exposed and public in a way they'd never been together.

"My quarters?" Jim murmured.

Bones shook his head against Jim's shoulder and rasped, "Mine." Jim let Bones lead the way.

———

Chekov had been staring at the door to his quarters, his fingers hovering over the typepad for over a minute, before he realized Hikaru had followed him there.

“How long are you planning on standing there?”

Chekov shook his head, clearing the fog, and angled himself to see Hikaru. “Standing here?” he repeated, blankly, not quite sure what they were talking about.

“Yeah, you’ve just been...” Hikaru trailed off, stepping across the hallway and slipping his own hand in front of Chekov’s to enter his code. “Are we going in?”

Something loosened in Chekov’s chest at that. Hikaru letting himself into Chekov’s rooms, that was normal. Hikaru grouping them together as a “we”, the implication that they’d both either go in or not go in, together, was familiar and comforting. “Yes, yes,” Chekov said, stepping through the doors into the darkness and turning the lights on low. He’d sometimes wished that he’d been assigned a roommate on the same shift schedule as he was, someone to say “good morning” and “good night” to instead of sharing living space with someone he rarely saw, someone with whom he shared only an amiable civility. Now, though, Chekov was glad the room was empty, glad that he’d be gone again before Nguyen worked his shift and whiled away a few hours in the mess and rec room. He couldn’t face anyone, just now.

Chekov stopped just inside the room, facing the far wall, facing away from Hikaru. His arms hung limply at his sides, and he was again in that dark cell, reliving the cold stone against his back, the heat twisting inside his belly, the shame a red clench all around him.

“Are you—were you gonna shower?” Hikaru’s voice. It was quiet, solemn, warm. Not exactly normal, but not—not pitying, not shaming.

“I—da. Shower,” and Chekov took a few halting steps toward the bathroom, then paused, twisting to look at Hikaru. “You don’t have to stay. You probably want to sleep.”

Hikaru’s mouth quirked up at the corner. “Leave now and miss you in a towel?” and then the smile dropped from his face and he swallowed hard, like maybe he’d apologize, but Chekov’s lips curved up before he could.

“True, it would be a shame to miss,” Chekov said, rubbing his stomach. “My new combat training has made me wery fit.”

Hikaru shook his head, dropping down onto the sofa and repeating, “Wery,” just loud enough for Chekov to hear.

Chekov thought he'd take a long shower, a scalding shower that was a hair hotter than he could stand, but his eyes started to drift closed after just a few minutes under the spray, so he soaped up and rinsed off quickly. He changed into his pajamas--a clean undershirt and shorts--and found Hikaru already in his bed, eyes closed but awake. 

Chekov slid under the covers next to him, a comfortable inch between their bodies. It wasn't any different than any other day, wasn’t awkward, so after a few minutes of listening to Hikaru’s breath, Chekov blurted out the question in his head.

“You’ve really never had sex with a man?”

Hikaru shook his head against the pillow. “I’ve never met a guy I wanted to sleep with. I guess I’m not wired that way.”

Chekov sighed wistfully. “Then I suppose this is not the beginning of our grand romance, after all.”

“Nah, man. That started years ago,” Hikaru chuckled. Chekov could still feel the vibrations from Hikaru’s laughter when he drifted away.

———

Leonard McCoy’s quarters were neat. Sometimes, the extreme tidiness, the complete absence of clutter, made Jim a little itchy. No clothes on the floor, no sheets in a ball at the foot of the bed—it was like no one lived there, or maybe like _he_ wasn’t allowed to live, here.

But now, he didn’t even notice it. He was leaning against the wall right next to the doors, watching Bones, just Bones, like if Jim shifted his gaze for even a minute, Bones might disappear, or crack apart.

Bones, for his part, didn’t seem to notice or care that Jim was tracking him like one of those balls in the shell game. Bones was busy sitting. Clenching his teeth. Digging his elbows into his knees. He was busy not screaming.

Eventually, Jim couldn’t stand it anymore, and he broke the silence. “He’s going to be okay,” he said, softly, but Bones’s entire body jerked like Jim had fired a starting pistol.

Bones didn’t speak.

“Bones,” Jim said, and he walked over to Bones, sat next to him on the small sofa that took up most of this living space. “Bones, come on. You’ve got to say something.”

And after a long moment, Bones did. He looked up at Jim, and he said, “I think I should request reassignment.”

“What?” Jim was shocked, he had expected shouting, maybe sobbing, a flashbang of emotion. This was—this was fucking logistics. And then, “No, fuck, Bones. No.”

Bones swallowed and looked away. “How can I stay here? I mean, he--” and he took a deep breath, “Ensign Chekov shouldn’t have to leave his home.”

“No. No, nobody is leaving the Enterprise, that’s crazy.”

“Crazy?” Bones said, and finally there was some heat, a feeling, some anger. “Crazy is expecting that kid to live on the same ship as the person who—the—me, dammit.” Bones struggled with his words, finished lamely and wiped a hand over his face, ground the heel of his palm into one of his eyes. 

Pain coursed through Jim at Bones’s anguish, the word he thought Bones might have been searching for, and Jim felt, just for a second, like he’d been knocked down by a giant wave, like there was too much water for him to break through to the surface. And then he shook it off, because this was not an argument he was going to lose, it wasn’t even an argument he was going to _have_. 

“That’s fucking ridiculous, Bones, and I’m done talking about it. Chekov is young, but he’s not a baby and he’s a goddamn genius, and if he can’t share space with you, he’ll let me know. And I bet you it’s not even something he’s considered, and maybe he will later, but imagine him waking up tomorrow to find out that Leonard McCoy, best doctor in Starfleet, is resigning his position as CMO of the Enterprise because you think he can’t share a spaceship with you. Like he hasn’t had enough decisions made for him, lately.”

Bones had been tensed, his mouth tight and ready to shout Jim down, until that last. Jim could see the second that he’d made his point, the exact moment when the fight left Bones.

He closed his eyes and turned his face away from Jim, and muttered, “Yeah, all right,” to the far wall.

“Okay, Jesus. Look. I think we should talk about--about all this, right? I think you need to really talk about it, but it’s--I’m so fucking tired. Can we just shower and go to bed? And can you promise me that you won’t wake up in the middle of the night and send any official and unretractable documents to the admiralty?”

“You’re always a crack-up,” Bones said, but he said it while he was getting up off the sofa, moving to the doorway to his bathroom.

Jim gave himself just a second to sag forward in relief and a lot of other things, his head heavy in his hands. And then he got up and followed Bones to the bathroom.

———

Captain Kirk stood behind his own, empty chair and waited for everyone to settle into their seats, the rustling of uniforms and the scrape of chair legs breaking up stilted silence. Chekov sat quickly, focused his eyes on the square of table directly in front of him, ignored the anxious sideways glances Hikaru kept stabbing him with.

“I’m gonna keep this brief so we can all get the hell on with our lives,” Kirk said, leaning forward and flattening his palms against the conference table, his eyes clear and serious. “So here’s what my mission report is going to say, and I expect that all of ours will be similar: the Denrovians engage in annual virgin sacrifices—humanoid sacrifices, and as they prefer not to sacrifice their own, further diplomatic missions should be curtailed. If absolutely necessary, interactions should be conducted on our territory, and all parties should be on their guard and well-armed.

“During this mission, our crew was in fact held as possible sacrifices, but fortunately for us all, the away team contained no person suitable for the Denrovians’ purposes, and we were released without further incident.”

Spock’s head angled to one side. “We are to file incomplete reports, Captain?” 

“Fuck you, Spock.”

Spock twitched, as surprised as he really ever got. Kirk made a point of behaving as professionally as possible when he could, which was when no one’s life was in danger. And certainly, no lives were at risk at the moment. “Captain—“

“Sorry, no. Sorry,” Kirk muttered. “Look, there isn’t any reason to go into it. What I’m suggesting you write is accurate, and I never detail every conversation and every meal I eat while on a mission. This is kind of the same thing. The gist is there.”

“If Starfleet Command were made fully aware of the situation, they would certainly offer assistance, a counselor perhaps, that we otherwise—“

“Yeah, except probably, they’d just reassign some people,” Kirk interrupted, agitated. “I mean, yeah, they’d—you’d—whoever. Would get counseling. But they’d get it on some other ship.”

“Maybe some people would rather be on some other ship, Jim.”

Chekov blanched, stared at his hands, twisting painfully in his lap. The doctor hadn’t spoken before, his silence gritty and harsh to Chekov’s ears, but this was worse. His voice was rough, strained and tired. And angry. Chekov had expected that, truly, but he’d hoped...something. He’d hoped for not angry. He had not expected McCoy to suddenly want to flee the Enterprise.

And now Kirk wasn’t talking, anymore. No one was talking, McCoy’s words ringing in everyone’s ears, and so Chekov had to finally look up, to see what was happening while there was nothing to listen to. Spock’s brows were slightly elevated, and everyone else’s eyes were wide, shocked.

McCoy was starting to seem a little confused, his fingers tapping the surface of the conference table lightly. Finally, he sighed and turned his head away. “I didn’t mean me.”

Kirk exhaled, his eyes closing for a scant second in relief. When they opened again, he looked strong, certain, every bit the captain. “Well, it’s my goddamn ship, and I’m not going anywhere. If anyone else,” and here, Kirk’s eyes focused on Chekov before sliding away, “wants to request a transfer, come talk to me. If anyone wants to talk about anything, my door will be open. This was a shitty situation, made shittier by the need for discretion. Talk to me, talk to each other, but--and I know I don’t even need to say this—don’t talk to anyone else.”

Kirk straightened, rolling his shoulders once and sighing in something like relief. “So, I don’t know how you guys are dealing. I’m ready to get back to work, get things back to normal. Anyone need more time before their next duty shift?”

“Hell no.”

That was McCoy, and he sounded so much like the himself that Kirk grinned and even Chekov smiled a little into his lap.

“We’re done, here, then. Ensign Chekov, hang back a minute.”

When everyone had cleared out, Hikaru hovering uncertainly just outside the door before he shut it, Kirk walked over to where Chekov was still staring at his hands, folded in his lap. Kirk slid the chair closest to Chekov away, leaning his backside against the table where it had been pushed in.

“Are you all right?” Kirk asked, and Chekov looked up.

Kirk’s brows were a little furrowed, his eyes focused intently on Chekov’s. 

“Yes, Captain.” 

“Don’t bullshit me, okay? I want to know, seriously. You’re all right?”

“It’s...it is strange. I don’t really know how to feel. But I am alive,” Pavel shrugged. “I will be all right.”

Jim nodded, reaching out to rest a hand on Chekov’s shoulder. “Well, I’m the farthest thing from a therapist, but I think you just feel how you feel. There’s no wrong way. And I want you, especially, to know that I really, really mean it about talking to me. Any time you need, you come find me. And I know you’ve got Sulu, too, so I feel good about that. But I was also thought you might want to talk to someone with a little more distance. Sulu’s your friend, so maybe it’s weird to really talk to him. But Spock’s got some kind of—well, you know, the Vulcan mind invader stuff, and all Vulcans get some kind of training for heavy mental and emotional stuff, plus he’s had some Starfleet training. And he’s kind of an unfeeling bastard, but you know he’ll keep it private, and you wouldn’t have to worry about him reacting badly, or at all,” and Kirk smiled wryly, “ to anything you say. So I’d like to talk to him, tell him to schedule some meetings with you.” 

Kirk paused, waiting, so Chekov nodded, because there wasn’t anything else to do.

“Good,” Kirk said, straightening. “You’re brilliant as hell, and you’re a fantastic navigator, and I want you on my ship. The Enterprise wouldn’t be the same without you.”

Chekov smiled at his feet, then met Kirk’s eyes. “The Enterprise is my home, Captain. I’ll stay here as long as you will have me.”

Kirk’s mouth quirked up at the corner, that “have me” a suggestive joke waiting to be made, but he let the moment slide away. “Well, not to pile appointments on you, but Bones says I can’t clear you for duty until you get checked out and patched up. He was heading straight for Medical, but Kovac is still on duty for a while yet, so you’ll get your pick of Starfleet’s best.”

———

Chekov’s feet took him to Sickbay without his actually having to think about it. He needed to get back to duty, to focus on choosing the best paths to weave through stars and planets and asteroid belts, how much margin to give blackholes without adding more time than necessary to their journey, and he had to go to Sickbay to do that. His brain needed something to do besides loop his humiliation, besides drowning itself in guilt and shame. He felt nauseated and a little woozy at the thought of seeing the doctor, at the thought of what this particular examination might hold, and so he didn’t think about it. He ran equations in his mind, then contemplated the best way to escape an unexpected supernova, then extrapolated the course of a hypervelocity star in the Korridon System. His pulse pounded in his ears as he approached the Medbay doors, and he was desperately trying to relocate himself, mentally.

Then doors slid open, and the first thing he saw was Dr. McCoy. He was standing at a console with a PADD in one hand, but his eyes met Chekov’s immediately, like he’d been just staring at the doors, like he’d been waiting for Chekov. Which of course he had been, Chekov realized, and he started to panic, but before he had a chance, McCoy’s voice broke through the silence, harsh and clipped.

“Should I get Dr. Kovac?”

Chekov shook his head, not quite sure what the right answer to that question was. “I don’t--whatever you would prefer,” he said, uncertainly, taking two steps inside the room, allowing the doors to slide closed behind him. There didn’t appear to be anyone else in Sickbay.

McCoy dropped the PADD on a table with a clatter that Chekov flinched against, and there was something almost--accusing? In his tone when he said “No, this one’s your call. I can promise you complete professionalism, but Kovac is an excellent physician.”

Chekov was getting dizzy again, his face reddening under what felt like intense pressure, the doctor’s eyes burning into him. He wanted to give the doctor the right answer, and it seemed like the right answer was, ‘Of course I would rather see Dr. Kovac,’ except...”Dr. Kovac would have questions?”

McCoy hesitated before answering, and his words came much more slowly than they had before, and Chekov recognized it as caution. “He’d need to ascertain the nature of your injuries and exactly how you acquired him. If he found your answers concerning, or if he thought you weren’t being entirely truthful, he would have a duty as a medical officer aboard a Starfleet vessel to file a report saying as much.”

Chekov nodded, pain suddenly pulsing at his temples. “I think I would rather avoid questions,” he said, not allowing himself think about what that meant, and Dr. McCoy jerked his head to one side, saying only, “Exam room two, then.”

When Chekov was settled on his back on the exam table, his pants draped over a chair in the corner and a sheet draped over his knees, the Dr. McCoy that came into the exam room-- after knocking twice, cracking open the door and waiting for Chekov to make an affirmative reply to his, “Ready?”—was a completely different person. This was the doctor he was familiar with from his regular check-ups and from the rare occasions McCoy had treated him for minor injuries, brusque but kind, professional but wry.

“So, I have a pretty good idea about what we’re dealing with here,” the doctor said, seating himself on a stool near Chekov’s feet. “You probably have some abrasions on your back, maybe your knees, and I’ll heal those up in a little while. First, I’d like to take care of your internal injuries,” he said, his voice gruff, but soft, completely free of judgment or any of the bitterness Chekov had felt radiating off of him when he’d walked into Sickbay.

“We have a special dermal regenerator, just for injuries like this. It’s got a more delicate touch for fragile tissues, and it’s, well--” and he held up the device, something that looked very much like a smooth, metal, dildo.

Chekov, who despite everything was 18 and caught completely by surprise, gasped out a startled laugh. He immediately flushed, but McCoy smirked, entirely _un_ surprised by the reaction.

“The shiniest ship in the fleet with the best and brightest, the most highly trained officers in the galaxy, and whenever this thing comes out, you all turn into giggling, blushing secondary school students,” he said, shaking his head.

It was awkward, because things were never not awkward when stirrups were involved, but the whole appointment went, Chekov thought, very much like it might have if he’d been injured with an enthusiastic but clumsy lover, although McCoy left out the lecture he’d probably have given under those circumstances. McCoy was careful to explain thoroughly what he was doing, to ask permission before any touch, to warn him about anything that might hurt, itch, or tingle. It all seemed embarrassing but almost mundane, and Chekov dressed and left Sickbay feeling lighter. If Dr. McCoy was already in a place where he could treat such intimate injuries without any hint of discomfort, maybe things weren’t as dire as Chekov thought. Maybe Hikaru was right, and the Captain was being truthful, and Spock would be helpful, and they’d all be able to move past this. Maybe things could be normal again, someday.

Chekov headed straight for the bridge, completely unaware that as soon as he left Sickbay, Leonard McCoy locked himself in his office and slid to the floor, hunched in the dark, tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes.


	2. Awakens Slowly

Three days and three duty shifts later, Chekov pressed the chime outside of Commander Spock’s quarters. He was tired, a little hungry because he came directly from the bridge, but mostly, he was so nervous he was seeing spots.

“Mr. Chekov,” Commander Spock said, standing swiftly from his desk, “I appreciate your punctuality. Please, come in.”

Chekov blinked his eyes several times, trying to clear his vision, and stepped inside the spare quarters. It was dimly lit, not dark, but when the doors slid closed, Chekov’s eyes needed a few moments to adjust to the change in lighting. There was music playing, something instrumental and so quiet that Chekov couldn’t even identify the genre.

“Please, take a seat wherever you’d be most comfortable while I get you a beverage. I can offer you water, coffee, or one of a number of varieties of tea--”

“Water, please,” Chekov interrupted. His pulse was throbbing in his stomach, and he didn’t think he could stand long enough to hear a listing of oolongs and rooiboses. As soon as Spock turned toward the food synthesizer in the corner, Chekov slumped into a corner of the stiff, gray couch, and closed his eyes tightly for just a second, focusing on breathing.

“There is very little for you to be nervous about, Ensign,” Spock said, his voice very close, and Chekov’s eyes jolted open. He must have been breathing for longer than he’d thought, because Spock was right in front of him, a glass of ice water in his hand.

Chekov cleared his throat and reached out tentatively for the glass, concentrating very hard on not dropping it while he took a sip. The Commander took a seat in the chair closest to Chekov, tactfully reaching out to slide a coaster on the end table between them slightly closer to Chekov, who took the hint and placed the glass on it.

“I understand,” Spock began, his voice as smooth, as controlled as always, “that there are some topics which will be very difficult for you to discuss. But we do serve aboard the same starship, and as the Enterprise’s mission is to continue for several years more, there is no need to rush. I have made no plans for our sessions together, and there is no schedule that we need to keep. If there are things you are not ready to address today, those subjects can wait until you are more prepared.”

It was soothing, sort of, that Spock’s voice was no warmer or colder than it ever was, that he was a mountain of placidity. That his manner was very nearly the same as ever--maybe more receptive, more attentive, but that could be a function of his role as counselor, instead of a change in his feelings toward Chekov. “Perhaps you have some questions for me, about how I envision our meetings will proceed?”

Chekov chewed on his cheek, then cleared his throat, again. “Will you do a--a mind meld today?”

Spock tilted his head to one side, betraying some surprise at the question. “I had not planned to do so, no. A mind meld is very intimate and can be dangerous. I believe I could navigate a meld with you safely if it would be beneficial, however, under these circumstances, it may prove instead to be harmful. Was it something you desired?”

Chekov shook his head and exhaled, his shoulders loosening slightly. “No, Commander. I just--the captain mentioned your telepathic abilities when he suggested this arrangement, so I thought. I just thought it would be part of these sessions.” Chekov shook his head, and the tightness in his chest eased. “So we will just talk?”

Spock dipped his chin in a nod. “Yes, Ensign Chekov, we will simply talk. And for the purposes of these meetings, I would like you to call me merely “Spock”, and for us to reserve rank designations for our on-duty hours. Even without telepathic interaction, our sessions will be quite personal in nature. A familiarity in address may assist you in being open with me.”

Chekov nodded, but there was something expectant in Spock’s expression, Chekov thought, although of course he was always very difficult to read, but “Oh,” Chekov said, “Yes. You should also call me Pavel.”

“Thank you, Pavel. I shall endeavor to prove myself a counselor worthy of your confidence,” Spock said, nodding approvingly. “I thought it would be easiest for us to begin exactly where we are now, rather than attempting to begin at the beginning. How are you feeling?”

“I’m--” Chekov started, haltingly, “I am okay.” And then, quieter, ducking his head, an admission, “I am not sleeping very well.”

“Are you experiencing nightmares?”

Chekov nodded, still not looking at Spock. “It has been difficult to fall asleep, and I wake often because of my dreams. I am afraid my work is not up to its usual standard--”

“Your work has been more than adequate,” Spock interrupted, “but that is not relevant at the moment. I wonder if you can tell me any specifics about your dreams?”

“Um. I don’t always remember, but mostly, I--mostly, the dreams are of Denrovia. That I am there, but alone in the prison, and then the morning comes, and they take me, and I--I scream. There’s never more than that, I wake with the screaming,” Chekov’s fingers twisted themselves in his lap as he spoke.

“It is my observation that you have several very close friends here on the Enterprise. Have you spoken to them about your experiences? It is important that you have a strong support system, a qualified counselor being just one part.”

Chekov looked up to meet Spock’s eyes again, surprised. “Oh, well. The Captain asked that we not discuss...I could, Hikaru of course is aware, but. But he was there, and he hasn’t wanted to talk about it. And I don’t want to make him re-live...I don’t want him to have to remember it.”

“Ah,” Spock said. “I do not believe that the Captain meant to enforce secrecy on you, Pavel. You are free to talk about your experiences with anyone you trust with them; Captain Kirk’s desire, and my own of course, is to prevent _other_ people from sharing your experiences, although I believe that to be moot, as each person who was present has my implicit trust. 

“I also believe that you might find Mr. Sulu relieved should you broach the topic with him. He may well be quite concerned, even eager to hear about how you are feeling but hesitant to bring it up so as not to force _you_ to discuss things you are not ready to talk about. I encourage you to talk to him.”

Chekov inhaled deeply, looked back down at his knotted fingers, and mumbled, “Maybe.”

“There is no urgency, of course,” Spock said, and then, changing tracks, “Your sleep has been compromised. Have you been able to eat?”

“I can’t eat breakfast, lately,” the memories that rose to the surface at night and made for restless, thrashing attempts at sleep were still too hot inside his gut to tolerate food, “but I eat lunch, and dinner. Maybe not as much as usual.”

“And have you eaten your meals alone?”

“I have lunch with Hikaru, always. I went to the mess for dinner last night, and Lieutenant Scott joined me.” Chekov looked up abruptly. “Actually, my plate was empty when I took it to the refresher. I don’t remember eating much, but Scotty was talking about the possibilities for the webbing material from the Catullan Spider--did you know it’s conductive?--and also, Keenser is tele-dating an Antedean, and I know that sounds like it can’t possibly work out! But apparently they have quite a bit in common, so if Keenser is willing to do the legwork--um. Well, anyway. I was very distracted at dinner,” he finished.

“And it sounds as though the distraction was both welcome and perhaps somewhat healing?”

“It was good. I got to forget about--no, that’s not exactly right. I didn’t forget, but it didn’t matter. Scotty is a little worried about me, I think. I know that he knows something happened, something not good. But he doesn’t know what, and so he’s not avoiding anything in particular, like Hikaru is. He’s just trying to be a good friend by being around, being, yes. A distraction. It was nice to spend time with him.”

“Hmm,” Spock mused, “And do you find that it feels somehow unpleasant to spend time with Mr. Sulu? Or with any of the crew members who were imprisoned with you?”

“Not unpleasant,” Chekov said, shaking his head. “But it’s very--I am very embarrassed. I am worried that they...I’m very worried that you think of me differently.”

“I do not,” Spock said. “You are, in my opinion, the most talented navigator in Starfleet, and your skill is all the more impressive for your youth. Your potential cannot be overestimated. Your survival was of the utmost importance on Denrovia, and I am sorry for any distress it caused you or our crewmates, but I am not at all sorry for any event that saved your life. It is, I understand, very easy for me to say that, as I was not involved directly, and it was undoubtedly a painful, complicated, and perhaps traumatizing experience. But none of it was your fault, in the slightest, and it reflects not at all on you.”

Chekov couldn’t help a small smile at the praise, and his eyes brightened with pride. “I appreciate your saying these things.”

Spock’s face relaxed into something like a smile, also. “And you know, of course, that Vulcans do not lie, even to spare the feelings of others’.”

“Da, I do. And it is very--it is good, to know that you are not uncomfortable.”

“I am not,” Spock said with some finality. “And if you are amenable, I believe we have progressed adequately for today, and I find myself somewhat in need of sustenance. Would you accompany me to the mess? I believe Lieutenant Uhura will be waiting for me.”

Chekov hesitated, chewing his bottom lip, then nodded. “Yes, of course. That will be very nice.”

———

The next week, when they met again, Chekov was more prepared, not the ball of livewire nerves he’d been the first go-round. He had a plan, this time, and he was good with executing plans. He was a little tense, a little jangly, but his adrenal system, at least, was not running the entire show.

His meal with Spock and Uhura after their first session had been very pleasant. Uhura--Nyota, he was to call her, now, when they were on their own time--had been very cautious at first, gauging his reactions to everything that anyone said or did. She’d loosened up after a while, and by the time he walked out of the mess and parted ways with them, Chekov didn’t feel like she was waiting for him to start screaming. The two of them had shared several meals since, something they had done before, but usually never alone, or alone for only a few minutes before someone else came and joined them. They’d never been the sort of friends that people would be concerned to break in on, before, but Chekov was feeling like they might be headed toward that.

She did still look at him with a little too much feeling, too much sympathy, and it made Chekov a little itchy. It was oppressive, maybe, like she was demanding that he be fragile. And Chekov wasn’t entirely okay, but he was definitely not fragile. He knew that wasn’t really fair to Nyota, not when all she really felt was concern, but he did hope that she’d move past that soon. He wanted everyone to get past that, and his plan, beginning today, was to start with Spock.

So when he was seated again on Spock’s staid, gray couch and Spock was perched on the same chair he occupied the week before, Chekov took a deep breath and started speaking before Spock could steer their session in any particular direction. 

“I think we should talk about Denrovia,” Pavel said, steady and firm. “If we don’t, I will have to spend more time feeling nervous about speaking about it. And it was only a very little bit ago, but I don’t know if I am feeling how I am supposed to be feeling about it. I am embarrassed, more than embarrassed. I wish it had not happened, and I feel like I could die from shame when I think of it. Hikaru--you know, Hikaru is my very best friend, and he seems to think I cannot be left alone for even a moment, and he avoids certain topics now that we were very comfortable with before, and--and he seems hurt that I--” Chekov sighed, “I don’t want to avoid him. But it is so much easier to be around Mr. Scott, right now. And Hikaru doesn’t understand why, because we can’t talk about why. And Lieutenant Uhura looks at me with very sad eyes, like I am ill. I do not feel ill, though. Even the captain is not normal. He is trying so hard to act as though nothing has happened.”

“I am surprised that you are eager to strike at the heart of this so soon,” Spock said, steepling his fingers. “It is encouraging, but I wonder whether you may be focusing outside of yourself to avoid examining what did happen to you. You have consistently characterized your most intense emotions regarding the incident as embarrassment, and now you are implying that your discomfort originates primarily from others’ reactions to what occurred” Spock said, then tilted his head. “Would be able to describe for me, the incident, in broad strokes?”

Chekov flushed, and looked down, now. “I don’t know if I can do that. You want me to tell you what happened?”

“In just a sentence or two. If someone asked you the question, ‘What happened on Denrovia,’ and you wanted to be honest, but brief. How would you respond?”

Chekov was silent for a moment that dragged on, and he tore a piece of skin away from his bottom lip with his teeth. It stung, and he tasted copper on the tip of his tongue. “Doctor McCoy was forced to have sex with me, and my closest friends and crewmates had to watch.”

“Ah,” Spock said. “So the doctor was forced, and others were forced to be present. What about yourself, Pavel? Do you not feel that you were forced, as well?”

“I--” Pavel looked up, his forehead crinkling. “I was. Yes, I was forced to also have sex, but,” he cut himself off, rubbing the first two fingers of his right hand across his hairline, “but it was my fault. If I weren’t--the Denrovians wouldn’t have thought to--and no one else would have had to be there. The doctor, the captain, none of you.” Pavel’s face crumpled, tears slipping down his cheeks, and then his body was shaking with the onslaught of this guilt. “I’m so sorry, Commander, I shouldn’t ever have--”

“Pavel,” Spock said, “none of the blame lays at your feet, and I personally have no resentment or regret regarding the actions required to keep you aboard this ship. I will repeat that as many times as is required for you to believe it. Your apologies are unnecessary.” Spock paused, handed Pavel a tissue and gave him time to wipe away tears, to collect himself. “Do you believe that Mr. Sulu is angry with you, or blames you for the position the Denrovians put him in?”

Chekov shook his head, but it took him a few moments to shape his feelings into words. “No, I know he is not angry. I don’t think he blames me, but he must feel differently about me.”

“Are you still experiencing nightmares?” Spock asked, and to Chekov it seemed a sudden subject change.

“I--yes. Not as badly, I think. I am feeling much better rested. But I do still, yes.”

“And are your nightmares the same as they were? Of you alone in the prison cell?” 

“Yes, just as they were.”

“I find it interesting that your nightmares do not involve the actual act. Rather, it seems that you have more fear of what might have happened than what actually did--and also, if I might theorize, I believe your dreams imply more about what you are afraid will happen in the future than of what has happened in the past. You fear, now, being abandoned by your friends and crewmates.”

Chekov breathed deeply for several minutes, turning his head away from Spock to stare straight ahead, at the empty space above Spock’s coffee table. “Da. I am--what happened was not so very terrible. No one hurt me, not really. But it would be very, very hurtful if what happened resulted in the loss of affection, or respect.”

“Pavel, I will confess that you are not reacting in the way I would have expected. I must emphasize that there is no right or wrong way to respond to trauma, but there are ways that are helpful and healing, versus ways of dealing that merely postpone confronting traumatic events. I wonder whether you are in a sort of denial about having been sexually assaulted.”

Chekov went very still, his entire body turning in his haste to look at Spock again. “You think I was raped?”

Spock’s mouth opened several moments before he actually found words. “I assumed it was an obvious descriptor for what happened.”

There was a long silence, throbbing and fraught. “I don’t feel—I don’t feel raped,” Chekov whispered. “I don’t feel anything like I would think—I am not afraid or depressed or angry.”

“You have not experienced any fear?”

“Well. I am afraid that my friends will turn from me or think less of me. I am afraid that my captain will not see me as competent or capable, because I--I didn’t maintain my composure under duress. But I am not afraid of, of men. I am not afraid of going out, or being around people. I am not afraid of being physically assaulted, or, or. Or raped.”

“I am sorry to ask this,” Spock said, slow and careful, “but I think I muBones’s quarters. Are you not afraid of Dr. McCoy?”

The confusion on Chekov’s face was immediate and sincere. “Why would I be afraid of the doctor?”

“I am...I am uncertain, now. I had assumed you would associate--Pavel, I believe we should end our meeting,” Spock said, standing quickly and tugging at the hem of his shirt. “I assure you that you have done nothing at all wrong, but I am concerned that should we continue, I will compound any negative feelings you have by pushing my assumptions onto you. As you know, I am not a fully trained psychiatrist, and I believe a few days to allow me to do some research would be beneficial for both of us.” Spock’s face betrayed no emotion, but it was obvious that he was rattled.

Chekov blinked. “I--that will be fine. I’m, um. I’m sorry, I--”

“No,” Spock said, holding a hand up, “Please do not apologize. As I said, there are no wrong or invalid emotions. In fact, it is I that must apologize to you, for being so very unprepared.”

Chekov shook his head, looking away. “You will let me know when it’s a good time to meet again?”

“Of course. And I encourage you again to reach out to your friends, in the interim. I believe that talking with Mr. Sulu, at least, would assuage many of your concerns. Now,” Spock said, and his expression shifted, something subtle and altogther unidentifiable that told Chekov that he was moving on to a completely different topic, “I believe Nyota will already be in the mess. She will be pleased that we are able to join her early.”

Chekov breathed out a laugh, relieved and pleased that their plans were still in place. “Hikaru said he would join us,” he said.

“Excellent. I have several questions for him about the plans Mr. Scott submitted for the thrusters. I find them audacious, myself, but Mr. Sulu may have his own insight.”

———

When he had trouble sleeping, if it was late enough for him to not get in anyone’s way, Chekov headed to one of the labs. He liked to see what experiments were running, to see any novel hypotheses, to make his own guesses about what the results would be and then check in later to see if he’d been right. It was sort of like no-stakes gambling, with the added bonus of secret ego boosts when his predictions turned out to be more correct than those of the scientists themselves.

He’d been in one laboratory or another almost every night since the away mission to Denrovia. He wasn’t exhausted, exactly. He got sleep, just not exactly when he planned it, and not as much as he was used to, so, well. He was tired but not exhausted. It wasn’t ideal, but the one benefit was that he was now familiar with nearly every experiment running on the Enterprise, and tonight he was headed to the Biochemistry Lab to see if Lieutenent Okeke’s experiment was the complete dud Chekov expected it to be.

He stepped into the corridor on G-Deck, turning to the right off the turbolift. Very few people would be here at this hour, so he was a little surprised to see someone at the other end of the long, gently curving hallway, heading his way. And then he realized that person was Dr. McCoy.

Chekov’s fingers curled into palms that were very suddenly sweaty, and he concentrated on controlling his breathing, on acting normally. Everything had been fine during his trip to Sickbay, but he somehow hadn’t seen the doctor at all since then--which he hadn’t really noticed, with everything else going on, or maybe he had noticed but was too grateful to examine it. Maybe he’d even been avoiding the doctor. Not on purpose, but it was very, it was very...it was very strange, it was very difficult, and it was easier not to have to look in the eye this person who had endured on his behalf something so intimate and invasive, but whom he didn’t know very well, otherwise.

But it was just the doctor, and he was here now. So Chekov focused on appearing unbothered but not too eager, and now he realized that of course, the biochem lab was also on the way to Sickbay, and it was a strange hour in a place that the doctor was usually in, and maybe he would think that Chekov had planned to run into him. Should he greet the doctor as they passed? Express surprise so that he would know Chekov hadn’t sought him out? Should he nod or maybe--

Before he could even finish worrying about what to say, though, Dr. McCoy very abruptly turned, not into one of the doorways lining the hall, but in a complete 180, walking back the way he’d come. Quickly, too.

Chekov’s stomach clenched painfully, and pressed his lips very tightly together. He felt cold. It was shock, maybe, or just hurt, maybe embarrassment. Mortification, really. There was no denying what had just happened, no pretending that the doctor had to return to Sickbay for some item he’d mistakenly left behind. That was clearly a man who didn’t want to look at Ensign Pavel Chekov, not even to pass him in a hallway.

And now, Chekov understood that he hadn’t been avoiding Dr. McCoy unconsciously at all; Dr. McCoy had been avoiding him, very consciously. Very determinedly. This was the thing he’d feared the most, the thing the captain and Commander Spock and Hikaru had been reassuring him against. This was rejection. Blame. Probably hate.

Chekov turned around, too, and headed as quickly as he could back to the turbolift, and he didn’t find out until weeks later that Dr. Okeke’s experiment had actually been wildly successful.

———

There was nothing Chekov could do about Dr. McCoy. He was a walnut of worry in Chekov’s belly, small and hard when he ignored it, shoved it out of his mind, but when Chekov gave it his attention, the walnut cracked open, soaking up all of the light until it became a towering tree and left Chekov shivering in darkness. He didn’t understand what had changed in between the day McCoy had gently and casually healed his injuries and the day the doctor pivoted away from Chekov, but all he could do was try not to run into the doctor—which required exactly no effort on Chekov’s part, since the doctor was so scrupulously avoiding Chekov—and to not think about him.

While Chekov waited for Commander Spock to research counseling methods, while he watched Nyota’s solicitude slowly flake away, while he did not think about Dr. McCoy, Chekov decided to step forward into every space someone else stepped back to make for him. 

The lights were off on the observation deck, and Chekov was laying across a chair with his legs thrown over one of the arms, his head resting only somewhat uncomfortably on the other.

There hadn’t been any seating here when the Enterprise started flying, but Captain Kirk had a fondness for the space, and he claimed that it was barbaric to force the stellar cartographers to stand for, as he said, “weeks at a time” when they entered new or rarely travelled areas of space . Truly, the captain had just wanted a place to rest comfortably when he was in here.

There were no interesting phenomena in this part of the galaxy, not right now anyway, and the captain was presumably asleep, so Chekov and Sulu were alone here tonight. Hikaru was sitting in another chair, which he’d slid so close to Chekov’s chair that there was not more than two inches of space between them.

They were talking, very quietly, and so they needed to be very close.

“I didn’t mean to make it weird,” Hikaru said, and it was nice that Chekov was staring straight at the ceiling, because it meant there was no pressure to meet Hikaru’s eyes. “I just thought you didn’t want to talk about it, and I guess I thought that meant we couldn’t talk about...about a lot of other things, either.”

“I know,” Pavel said. “I could have been more forthright. We should have talked about it right away, I just--I was so worried.”

Sulu sighed, his eyebrows drawn close together. “It felt okay, right when we got back to the ship. I felt like I did okay, like maybe I got it right. But then I went to the Bridge, and you went to Medical, and I got...knotted up. I was worried that you’d react badly, and then I didn’t ask because I didn’t want you to feel like you had to answer, and then it all became something that we just didn’t talk about. And I’m so sorry, because obviously, I mean, it seems so obvious, now. That it would make you feel like I didn’t want to talk about it.”

“It’s not your fault, you know,” Chekov sighed, and then he swung his legs down and swiveled in his seat so that he could see his friend. “Not any part of it is your fault. And I know that not any part of it is my fault, either. My meetings with Commander Spock have been very helpful, but I also. You’re my very best friend, Hikaru, and if you are having difficulties with--is it hard for you to be around me?” Chekov’s eyes were focused on Hikaru’s face, searching and worried.

“No, geez, Pavel, no,” Hikaru said, and he reached out, folding a hand over Chekov’s shoulder. “I’ve been second-guessing myself, trying way too hard to not say anything wrong, treating you like, like a startled rabbit that I don’t want to chase away. But it’s not you, there’s nothing about you,” and his tone was pleading. “It was so hard, on Denrovia. And I don’t want to put any of my own stuff on you, because I was just there, and it was happening to you, but--but I was _there_ , and I knew something bad was happening to you, and the only thing I could do was to block it out as best as I could. I thought you’d want that, I thought that’s what I would have wanted, but now I think, maybe I should have done something--”

“You know me very well,” Chekov interrupted. “And I knew, I knew your eyes were closed, I knew you were grinding your teeth to make your own noise, I knew you were trying to give me some privacy, and that was exactly the right thing,” Chekov said. “It did make it easier, because I thought you would not know how--I did not handle it well, I think. But I am not a rabbit. I am very strong, and if I only know you don’t wish--if I only know that our friendship remains very strong, also, then there is no topic you need to avoid.”

Hikaru released a long exhalation, and they sat in silence that felt companionable, unstrained. “I’m so relieved to hear you say that,” Sulu said earnestly, after a while. “I’ve been sort of afraid to bring it up, but--everyone on the ship knows that you requested that pink fish thing from the cooks, and nobody is ever going to get over it.”

“ Eto oskorbitel'no!” Chekov shouted. “That is Seledka pod Shuboj, and it is delicious. Just because your palate is adolescent--”

“Says the adolescent!” Sulu was grinning, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

And Chekov, who was exclaiming now about the elegance of beets, felt like he was finally home, again.


	3. Had Something to Give

It was late, later than any of them would usually be out, but with three entire days off, no one was quite ready to pack it in for the night. The Enterprise was parked at a space station for some (not at all needed, according to Scotty) upgrades (that would probably mess up all his personalized improvements, according to Scotty, and would most likely need to be undone, by him, slowly, over weeks anyway).

It wasn’t the biggest space station, not the newest or the most impressive, but it was definitely one of the busiest in the Federation, and so many ships were either docked or awaiting docking space that the whole place felt claustrophobic. The bar reflected that, the space not large enough for the number of bodies crammed in it, but there were a bountiful number of bartenders keeping the line at the bar reasonable, so since they had a table, Chekov, Scotty, Uhura and Spock were content to sit, shouting at each other over the music, drinking, and watching Sulu get shot down by a pretty human, then another, then a positively gorgeous Risan.

“He must think an awful lot of himself,” Scotty shouted. “He’d have a lot better luck if he lowered his standards,” and he held out a hand, warding off Chekov’s protests. “Now, I’m not saying he’s not a very handsome man, and I think he’d be well able to impress even these ladies with his sterling personality if they could hear a bleeding word he said. But as it is, he hasna a chance with them.”

Uhura smirked, swatting Scotty on the arm. “I suppose you could do better!”

“Nah, I couldna. But you don’t see me trying, do you? I’ve a lady already that takes of all of my time, and, if you’re asking, I think she’d require a lot less of my attention if she had a more reasonable crew! You all carry on as though you’re unstoppable,” and he jerked his head in Sulu’s direction, “and my darling ship gets all manner of scrapes and bruises.”

“Mr. Scott, you speak as though you, yourself had lower expectations,” Spock broke in, somehow speaking loudly enough to be heard while perfectly modulating the tone and tenor of his voice. “I have observed during our tenure together that you yourself believe the Enterprise to be, under your guardianship, capable of anything at all.”

Scotty opened his mouth to protest, and Chekov stood, clapping a hand on Scotty’s shoulder and grinning widely. “I will need more to drink if you are going to pretend humility,” he shouted. “Everyone will have another?”

A round of nods, and Chekov pressed through the crowd, mumbling inaudible ‘excuse me’s as he made his way to the bar. There were a few other people waiting, but he found space to stand sideways, leaning against the bar between two occupied stools.

He was sort of bobbing his head to the music, something an impressive mix of catchy and frenetic, and then the guy on the stool he was facing caught Chekov’s eye and sort of smiled with half his mouth. The guy said something Chekov couldn’t hear, so he shook his head, stooped a little, got closer.

“I asked if you come here often,” the guy said, leaning forward so there wasn’t a lot of space between his mouth and Chekov’s ear. “I thought I’d repeat it, because I’m pretty impressed with my originality.”

It wasn’t exactly funny, but Chekov smiled to be polite. “First time, here. The drinks are very good, though. Maybe I will come back.”

“Your accent is sexy,” the guy said, and Chekov blinked. He’d have taken a step back if that step wouldn’t back him into someone else. This man was very forward, and that was something Chekov just wasn’t used to.

He’d dated at home, neighborhood kids that weren’t in school with him but were his age. It was mostly batting eyelashes and sweaty palms, more crushes than relationships, because he was very young when he left for the Academy. And in the Academy, well, he was young. Too young for anyone but a few other prodigies, and they were all too busy to form anything more than friendships, even if there had been any attraction.

The crew of the Enterprise grew more familiar daily, and there were several couples aboard the ship, now. Probably there were many more people who were sleeping together, or who had slept together, or who wanted to sleep together. Maybe it was a result of the longevity of the Enterprise’s mission, or maybe it was something that happened aboard every starship, but Chekov wasn’t involved in any of it, really. Before Denrovia, he’d found several of his crewmates attractive, but they’d been out of the question and out of his league, and one night flings with visiting dignitaries or touring groups weren’t something he’d even considered, given his lack of experience.

And then after Denrovia…well, it was after.

And now here was this man, calling him sexy and breathing whiskey into his ear. Chekov knew he’d flushed, and his pulse had quickened, and the man pulled back, looked him up and down slowly, assessingly. He must have liked what he saw--and maybe he was mistaking the flush as interest on Chekov’s part--because he grinned.

“I bet you work in Medical. A nurse, probably, or a physician’s assistant. You look exactly like a guy who knows what a body can do,” he said, and he stood up, taking all of the space between Chekov and the stool so that Chekov could feel the heat from his body. Chekov’s chest started to feel tight, and his breath was coming too fast, and he stepped back, knocking his heel into the stool behind him, and he needed to apologize to the person sitting on it--

But someone’s arm reached between him and the stranger, a hand wrapped around Chekov’s bicep and tugging so that he turned to face her. Nyota was smiling, her eyes cautious, concerned. Her voice was upbeat when she said, “That Risan’s girlfriend showed up and chased Sulu off. He came back to the table basically a basset hound, you should see how depressed he looks! We’re switching to water in Spock’s room, come on!” and she tugged Chekov behind her as she wove her way back to the table, back to their friends.

———

When the group walked out of the bar, Chekov guffawing at something Spock was saying as they exited the bar, Leonard McCoy relaxed a little. He was sitting at the far end of the bar from where that asshole had trapped Chekov, and he’d been pretty close to walking over and slamming the guy’s head into the bar when Uhura came to the rescue instead.

It had undoubtedly worked out for the better, Lieutenant Uhura having spared Ensign Chekov any embarrassment or furthur trauma at McCoy’s hands and saving himself from disciplinary action. But it left him buzzing with unexpended adrenaline.

Not that he hadn’t been sort of on edge the whole night. The whole month. Longer.

But tonight, he’d been sitting here, on this stool, watching Chekov. Watching Chekov shoot the shit with his friends, watching him laugh and drink. He watched Chekov a lot, whenever he could get away with it without being noticed. It made him feel a little less awful to watch Chekov, being okay. To watch him, being happy. To watch him, having fun.

Tonight, he’d been watching Chekov having fun, but it hadn’t made him feel less awful, because he’d also been noticing Chekov’s eyes, sparkling under the neon lights, and Chekov’s arms, slim but muscled in his short sleeved t-shirt, and Chekov’s lips, wet with drink. And he’d probably have been better off maiming that asshole who’d thought he had a chance with Chekov. Maybe he’d have gotten lucky and been expelled from the fleet.

———

The repairs were still in progress, and Jim hadn’t actually had any down time, yet. He’d secured time off for his senior staff by taking pretty much every requested meeting himself, so he’d spent two entire days stuck in conference rooms and offices. It was their third day at the space station, and he was finally free after an early appointment with an ambassador from Betazoid. It had been the meeting he was least looking forward to; he found telepaths unsettling (and he was, really, trying to work on his bias, but he couldn’t help being weirded out), and he’d heard that Betazeds were not especially circumspect when it came to divulging the things they sensed.

He’d heard right, by the way, and Jim had never been more grateful that a meeting was one-on-one.

So when he stepped into Bones’s quarters, he was rattled by the new experience of hearing his own thoughts spoken aloud by someone else, and he’s looking for something soothing, familiar.

Bones was there, of course, because he had spent hardly any time off-ship, at least during the day. He’d smelled like booze every time Jim had seen him since they docked, though, so he’d probably spent more than enough time at the bar on the space station. At least, Jim sort of hoped so, because that would be in a lot of ways less worrying than Bones drowning himself in bourbon alone in his quarters.

“Finally off duty, Captain?” Bones asked. He was sprawled across his sofa, a PADD on the floor next to him, but its display was unlit. There was no book out, no music playing, but the lights were up and Bones didn’t have the lined, squinty look of a person who’d just woken up.

“What are you, staring at the ceiling?” Jim asked, picking up Bone’s feet and sliding under them.

“I’m sure some of the greatest thinkers in human history spent a lot of their time staring up at the sky. We don’t have sky out here--or maybe all we have is goddamn pitch black sky--so the ceiling is as close as I can come at the moment.”

Jim smiled. That grouchy drawl was exactly what he’d been looking for. Someone who knew him well enough to guess what he was thinking, but who couldn’t actually start quoting his brain word-for-word. “Well, enlighten me as to what great thoughts you were thinking. Somebody already heard all my best ones this morning.”

Bones snorted swinging his legs off of Jim’s lap and swiveling into a sit. “Are the mental eavesdroppers off the ship, then? Thought of ‘em here creeps me out. The last thing I need is someone picking through my head like a 20th century postal censor.”

Jim leaned his head back on sofa and closed his eyes. Meetings were exhausting. “I don’t know, Bones, I think maybe that’s exactly what you need. God knows you won’t actually tell anyone what you’re thinking.”

There was a silence long enough for Jim to realize that he’d said exactly the wrong thing.

They weren’t talking about it, Jim and Bones. They weren’t talking about Denrovia or Chekov or how much Bones was drinking these days or how much time he spent locked in his quarters. They weren’t talking about how everything Jim did was a reason for Bones to yell at him, or how many times Bones had just plain ignored a comm from Jim--not Captain Kirk, of course, but his friend and more, Jim.

Jim didn’t open his eyes. If he opened his eyes and looked at Bones, he’d see that _look_ on Bones’s face, that look that said, ‘How dare you,’ as though Jim had no reason to be worried. As though Jim had no standing to be worried.

He heard Bones get up, heard the soft rasp of his feet moving on the carpet, the sound growing softer as Bones moved across the room. His eyes couldn’t stay closed forever, so Jim opened them.

And there it was, that look, except this time it had ratcheted up from ‘How dare you’ to ‘Go straight to hell, you motherfucker.’ Apparently suggesting mindreading as therapy had crossed some line for Bones.

Jim sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face, and stood, too. “Look--”

“Get the hell out,” Bones growled, and Jim blinked at the tone, one that he didn’t think had ever been directed at him, before. 

“Hey, I didn’t mean--”

“You did mean, goddamit! You did mean it, you think there’s something wrong with me, that I’m losing my shit, and you can leave my quarters right fucking now. I don’t need you to tell me what--”

“I think you do!” Jim shouted, because this was it. He couldn’t _do_ this anymore, dance around what was obviously a really painful and serious thing for Bones. “You _do_ need to talk to someone, Bones. And you won’t talk to me, and you won’t try the video sessions with a counselor, so what the hell am I supposed to do? Just keep my mouth shut and wait for you to have a breakdown in Sickbay?”

Jim had never seen Bones look quite like this. He was more than angry. He was incensed, his muscles bunched and veins standing out in his neck. “I won’t talk to anyone because there’s nothing to say. What happened, happened. Can’t go back and change it, and there’s no amount of talking that will make me feel better about being a rapist.”

Jim froze, blinking rapidly. That word, “rapist,” was echoing in his ears, but Bones couldn’t have said--”What? Bones, what are you--what are you _talking_ about?”

Bones grunted a laugh, low and hollow. “What exactly would you call it? I had sex with him, against his will. He didn’t get to choose. He said no, said it dozens of times, and I went ahead—“

“You didn’t have a choice, either. They were going to _kill him_. And if you hadn’t done it, I would’ve. Would you be calling me a rapist?”

Bones stopped breathing, his eyes big, haunted. “But I wanted him.”

Jim nodded, his chest squeezing at Bones’s pain, and when he could, he said, “Yeah, that makes it harder. For you, Bones. But _you_ didn’t hurt him. The Denrovians fucking—they raped him, and they raped you too. Neither of you wanted to have sex down there, and neither of you were given a choice. Look, I’m not—I’m not qualified for this shit, you know? But I know that you feel guilty as fuck, I get that. And I know that those things we—that the way we talked about him before, that makes it worse for you. But it doesn’t make it worse for him. It doesn’t have anything to do with him, right now. He’s got no idea if that really happened or if I was just saying shit, and I think—I mean, damn. If you knew he’d wanted you before, would you feel better or worse? Because I’m thinking better. I’m thinking if he knew that you’d already wanted him, that it wasn’t some kind of torture chore to fuck him, I’m thinking he’d feel better.”

“Yeah, or maybe he’d feel like it was going to happen again. I raped him, and maybe I’d be back for more, or—“

“No. You know that’s not—stop using that word, and you’ve never hurt any—you’re a doctor, and you,” Jim stopped, looked away from Bones and just breathed for a moment, trying to collect himself. “So did I, Bones. I still do, even—I mean, it’s the fucked up thing, isn’t it? You can’t help who you’re attracted to, can’t just turn that off because it’s inconvenient or painful. He’s still that same kid that we fantasized about.”

But Bones shook his head. “He’s not. It wasn’t really okay then, but now it’s. Something else. If I still--” Bones cut himself off, looking at the floor, his lips a firm line. “We’re done here.”

Jim shook his head. “We’re not, Bones. No--” he said, holding up a hand to silence Bones. “We’re not finished, because I’m not just your friend. I’m not just your--your--your lover. I’m also the captain of this ship, and I have a duty to every one of my crew to make sure that they’re healthy. And you’re not, Bones.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“It isn’t, and you know it isn’t. It’s not about job performance, although it’s only a matter of time before yours starts to suffer. You can’t keep things like this in--it escapes, one way or another. But you, personally, emotionally and mentally, are not well. And as your captain, if you refuse to seek or allow treatment, I’m going to have to remove you from duty.” It was probably the hardest thing Jim had ever had to say, and his voice was strong through it, every bit the captain’s voice.

Bones was shocked. He was hurt, resentful, bitter, and howling mad. But he also couldn’t stop himself from feeling a little proud. “You’d do that?” he asked, but he knew the answer.

“I really don’t want to. The Enterprise needs you. I need you. There’s no one else I can even imagine as my CMO. But a CMO that’s on the verge of a breakdown is unacceptable.”

Bones swallowed hard. “Spock?”

“Anyone you want. And if they file a report about Denrovia, we’ll deal with it. Secrecy isn’t the priority.”

Bones leaned back against the wall, the fight going out of his body. “Spock’s all right. As long as he keeps his creepy mind reading hands off my face.”

———

When Chekov met again with Spock, it was a relief to be there, in that dim room where he could exhale. He didn’t want to pick up where they’d left off, nodded impatiently through Spock’s explanations of what he’d learned in consultation with licensed counselors: no right way, feel his own feelings, be aware that those feelings might change with time, maintain open dialogue, blah blah. It wasn’t at all what was on Chekov’s mind, and he honestly couldn’t remember most of it, later.

When Spock finally stopped talking and made room for Chekov to do so, the words burst out of him like a horse out of the starting gate. He tells Spock about Hikaru, about his open relief when Chekov broached the topic of Denrovia with him, about how everything had settled into near-perfect ease between them since.

He told Spock about the man at the bar, the way he had actually felt an alien skittishness at being approached in a sexual way, a sense of alarm that he thought probably would have intensified quickly if Nyota had not stepped in. “I am confused by it, mostly, and worried that it may happen again in a different situation. I haven’t felt anything like that before, but no one onboard the Enterprise has made any advances, so,” Chekov shrugged. “I just, I am afraid of not being able to control it, should I feel that way again.”

Spock assured him that it was normal, that his fear response may well have been triggered by the general situation of someone placing sexual expectations on him, but that it also might have been something very specific, even unidentifiable, a smell or a color or the quality of the lighting. They worked through some breathing and muscle relaxation exercises, and Spock promised to send Chekov some literature about realistic thinking.This topic was apparently something Spock had prepared for quite thoroughly, and Chekov was annoyed to find he felt strangely pleased at having lived up to this expectation.

Finally, Chekov circled around to the thing he didn’t really want to talk about at all, but that had been eating away at his intestines since it happened. “I, um. I saw Dr. McCoy late one night, in a corridor near Sickbay. He—he’d been coming my way, but when he saw me, he turned exactly around. He ran away from me,” Pavel said, eyes on his hands.

Spock paused, absorbing this. “How did you feel when you recognized the doctor down the hall?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I was nervous. I hoped he wouldn’t think I’d planned to run into him. I think I was hoping I could act casual.”

“And if your perception of Dr. McCoy’s movements and motives is correct, that he changed his course to avoid you, what does that mean for you?”

“I didn’t want him to hate me, but I cannot—if he does, there isn’t anything I can do to change it. I have been trying not to think of it, but it is very. It makes me feel very badly.” Chekov shrugged. ‘Badly’ didn’t begin to dig into the mound of shit that it made him feel, but he didn’t have a word for that.

“Your recognition that the feelings of others is not entirely within your control is a very healthy one. However…” Spock studied Chekov in a way that made Chekov’s toes twitch. “Our sessions are confidential, as you know. I will never share any information about them without your complete consent, so please voice any hesitation over the request I am about to make. I believe it may be beneficial for both you and Dr. McCoy if I were able to discuss on a very limited basis some things you and I have talked about.”

Chekov licked his lips. “I suppose, I would…be open to that,” Chekov said, slowly, thinking it through. “It would depend on which things.”

———

Leonard scheduled a meeting with Spock the day after his screaming fight with Jim, but he stubbornly scheduled it for 9 days later, despite Spock offering many earlier opportunities. He spent those nine days stewing, knowing he’d done no favors to himself in giving himself so long to simmer in his anger and fear. But Leonard never made things easy for himself if there was a chance to make them hard, so nine days of stress headaches later, Leonard walked into Spock’s quarters, tense and ready to snap.

The lighting was low, and there was some kind of stupid smell going on that he knew was meant to be calming, and Leonard shook his head in disgust. “You can turn the damn lights up. This isn’t a date,” he snapped, before Spock could offer even a greeting.

Spock blinked, but his voice gave nothing away when he said, “Certainly, Doctor” and ordered the computer to adjust the lighting. “Please take any seat you’d like. What can I offer you to drink?”

“I didn’t come for the refreshments,” Leonard said, sitting stiffly in an armchair that turned out to be more comfortable than he’d have expected of furniture chosen by Spock. It was more comfortable than he wanted it to be, too--a hard seat would have given him another excuse to be pissed off. Not that he needed an excuse.

“Very well,” Spock said, taking his own seat on the small sofa. “I do understand that you aren’t entirely pleased to be here. Perhaps you would like to direct the conversation? We can start wherever you are most comfortable, and ease ourselves into more difficult matters as we progress. There is no pressure--”

“That’s bullcrap. Look, I don’t want to be here, you got that right. So I won’t want to be here again next week, or the week after. So just dive in, ask me what you need to know to get this over with quick.” Leonard took a little satisfaction in the tightening of Spock’s jaw, but he also felt like he could breathe a little better, having laid that out there.

“Dr. McCoy, there is no specific question that I require an answer to. The purpose of these meetings is not for me to acquire information, but for you to find peace with what has happened.”

Leonard stared into Spock’s eyes, stony and silent.

After a long moment that felt like a stand-off to Leonard, Spock exhaled. It was almost a sigh. “Ensign Chekov has given me his permission to discuss certain of his emotions and experiences with you. As you are not yet comfortable sharing any of yours, perhaps it would be most helpful to begin there.”

Leonard flinched, surprised, suspicious. He’d known that Chekov was having regular counseling sessions with Spock, and although he’d known on some level that of course they would be discussing him, it wasn’t something he’d consciously considered. But why would Chekov want him to know anything that was going on inside his head? Leonard didn’t think Spock would actually set up a trap for him, but this--even if Chekov had consented, Leonard wasn’t sure this was ethical.

But he was curious. Chekov appeared to be doing well, apparently excelling in his duties, engaging in a pretty damn active social life, but outside of casual observations, Leonard was in the dark. He didn’t know how Chekov was feeling, and he’d made some assumptions--that Chekov wouldn’t want to see him if it wasn’t necessary, that he would have found Leonard’s presence upsetting or traumatizing, but Leonard didn’t _know_ , and--

Leonard leaned back in the chair, crossed his arms, said, “Okay,” like a challenge.

Spock nodded. “In the months that have passed since the mission on Denrovia, Ensign Chekov has done significant healing. His initial reaction to the experience was almost entirely humiliation. He at no point experienced misdirected anger, or fear. He has never blamed the captain, for accepting a planetary mission with incomplete information and placing the crew in harm’s way,” and Leonard shook his head instinctively, the possibility that Jim might bear some responsibility never having occurred to him. “And he has never blamed you, for undertaking the actions that saved his life.”

Leonard looked away, gritted his teeth. “That’s bullshit,” he muttered. “How can he not? He--I don’t know, maybe he said that, but. How could he not blame me? I did the--I,” Leonard’s voice was bleeding frustration, growing louder with each word. “Goddammit,” he spit, quietly and forcefully, “I _raped_ him.”

Leonard’s panted breathing filled the space for long seconds before Spock said, impassive and inscrutable as always, “You did not.”

And Leonard’s eyes flashed, burning into Spock's. “Yeah, this is easy for you. You don’t deal with your own feelings, but you wanna crack open my brain and poke around inside. You were there, though. You must have felt something. You must feel differently now, about me, or--or Jim, or Chekov.”

Spock tilted his head, and Leonard flinched at the compassion in his face. “I do in fact feel differently now,” Spock said. “I know Pavel far better now than I did then, and he is a close friend for whom I have great affection, in addition to the admiration I already felt for his intelligence and competence. My primary emotion during the mission on Denrovia was discomfort, but I also felt a great deal of gratitude.”

Leonard’s entire body clenched, hard, fingers curling into fists. “You son of a--”

“Gratitude,” Spock said, raising his voice to speak over Leonard, “that I would not lose a member of my crew. Gratitude that Nyota did not have to be the one to perform the act--she would not have rebounded easily, emotionally. I was grateful that I was not alone in the cell with Ensign Chekov, as I am ill-equipped for the emotional engagement that made the act bearable for him. I was grateful that you, and the captain, were there to make the experience as easy as it could possibly have been.”

Leonard squeezed his eyes shut, his heart thundering. It was too much. Too much talking about something he’d been actively repressing. Too much kindness, from someone he didn’t expect kindness from. Too much that was in opposition to what he felt and what he knew the truth of the experience had to have been. So he got up out of his chair and walked out.

———

Jim had never been to therapy, not the sort that wasn’t court ordered, or mandated by Starfleet. Basically, Jim had never been to therapy that wasn’t perfunctory, a hurtle to be leapt, but that didn’t mean he didn’t understand a few things about himself. 

He knew, for example, that he was smart, that he had good instincts, and that those two things were about 10% of the reason he wasn’t already dead. The other 90% was a 50/50 split of luck and really good people standing shoulder to shoulder with him. He also knew that he wouldn’t always be lucky, and that knowing that wouldn’t stop him from throwing himself right into the path of certain doom if it meant he might do some good, any good at all. He knew that was because he didn’t really value his own life, and he knew that some people he really cared about would be devastated to hear that, and that some people he didn’t care about at all would take his ship away from him if they heard it, so he held that pretty close to the chest.

He knew that the reason he valued his life most as a sacrifice was because his mother abandoned him, and no amount of understanding the whys behind that could take away the psychological scars carved into a child whose mother couldn’t stand to look him in the face. He knew that his mother leaving him with the first asshole who smiled at her and agreed that he’d watch Jim on-planet while she spent 10 months out of her years in the stars had pretty much convinced Jim that he was garbage who no one should bother caring about. He knew that wasn’t reasonable, that he’d accomplished great things, but the instinct to place others over himself remained--and really, it had served him pretty well, so far.

He also knew that he was in love with Bones, and that Bones hated that Jim slept around, and Jim knew he wouldn’t stop doing it anyway. There were a lot of reasons for that--because he just liked sex, a lot, and because he wasn’t good enough for Bones, and because he was afraid of being hurt, and because he was afraid of being tied down, and also because he didn’t want to end up like his mother, who never got over losing the man that she’d loved. He was also afraid that if he promised Bones he’d be faithful, he’d screw it up. He’d fail. If there was one thing Jim Kirk absolutely could not fucking stand, it was failing.

Jim knew that he spent decades not trying at things to avoid what seemed like inevitable failure. The ghost of his father loomed too large over Jim when he was a kid, there was just no way he’d ever measure up favorably against that yardstick. And his mother never seemed to care about A+ papers, but bloody fists at least earned him a comm from her. There was no real incentive to do well. But the night he met Christopher Pike in a bar in the go-nowherest town Jim could find, he made a decision. He was going to do his best, and he was not going to fucking fail. And he still hadn’t.

Jim had a multitude of flaws, but the worst ones were ameliorated when he was on the Enterprise. First, there just weren’t any people onboard that he could screw other than Bones, so the promiscuity rarely came into play. Also, he was much more cautious with his ship and his crew than he was with himself, and his experience as captain had taught him to be a little more reserved when he was out in a world alone, too. He still had some issues with James T. Kirk, but Captain Kirk of the USS Enterprise was somebody he was really proud to be.

Anyway, Jim saw himself pretty clearly in the mirror. And so he knew that when he started seeking out Chekov, it was because he was overcompensating. Jim told himself while he was doing these things--putting an approving hand on Chekov’s shoulder on the bridge when they reviewed flight plans, sitting at Chekov’s table in the mess whenever Jim saw him there, even going to find Chekov in the High Energy Physics Lab to ask some questions about Chekov’s (pretty genius, but totally untested) plans for a new polarized proton collider--that he was being subtle. That no one would notice the extra attention, except for Chekov, who Jim was pretty confident needed it.

It seemed pretty obvious to him that Chekov was terrified that people would hate him after Denrovia. It was pretty easy for Jim to identify fear of abandonment, he guessed, because he could see that plainly in Chekov. Luckily, Jim had a crew who embodied thousands of admirable qualities, with empathy at the top of the list, because Uhura and Spock and Sulu were clearly showing themselves to be constant, devoted friends. And Scotty must have been a goddamn mindreader, because Jim was pretty sure no one actually told him anything, but he was buzzing around Chekov with jokes and engineering dilemmas pretty much every second the two of them both have free.

But Jim still felt the need to be an example. No; Jim felt the need to make up for Bones, who was apparently avoiding not only Chekov, but every uninjured crew member on the Enterprise. Jim didn’t think he’d seen him outside of Sickbay or their quarters since Denrovia. And he was pretty sure that Chekov noticed, and that he was taking it as rejection, and Chekov didn’t need that on top of everything else.

The only problem was that now, he and Chekov were becoming friends. And Jim was a pretty tactile guy, when it came to his friends, and that was great with Bones, and it was fine with Sulu and Scotty, because there was nothing there but platonic affection. He toned it down for Uhura, he ratcheted it up for Spock because that was just goddamn hilarious. But with Chekov, things were complicated. Jim found himself touching him, shoulders pressing together when they were looking at the same PADD, legs brushing when they occupied adjacent chairs. He worried at first, but he was trying really hard not to treat Chekov differently from anyone else he spent social time with regularly, and Chekov never gave him any sign that the physicality bothered him, so Jim let go of that and let himself be normal.

But it wasn’t normal, because now Chekov was the person he touched the most (besides Bones, but all the Bones touching happened in private now because Bones only seemed to exist in private, now). And Jim wanted to touch more. Wanted to twirl a finger in that curl that hung over Chekov’s forehead, to brush his knuckles over the patchy facial hair that was sometimes just visible along Chekov’s jaw after an extended shift. Once, Jim happened to be walking by when Chekov climbed out of a Jefferies tube, and for a second before Chekov tugged his uniform shirt down, there was a slice of skin visible that made Jim’s fingers twitch.

Jim knew himself pretty well, and he was pretty sure he was in trouble.


	4. You Were Sharp

It was routine. Every few months, someone crawled into the maintenance shaft, dropped down into the torpedo launch tubes, and used a scanner to make sure each torpedo was fully functional. It took about four minutes per torpedo, and nothing ever went wrong.

Today, it went wrong.

Scotty had shown Chekov how to do the first one--the lad wanted to know everything about everything—then left it to him to do the rest. And then Scotty heard the whirring of the torpedo in Tube 4 being engaged, which was impossible since he’d ordered the torpedo controls manually disabled, but it clearly wasn’t impossible, because he could hear Chekov screaming through the open access panel.

Scotty’s fingers flew over a terminal screen, halting the torpedo’s progress, sending it back down the tube. When two of his men dragged Chekov out of the maintenance shaft, Chekov’s face was white and bloodless, his eyes squeezed shut, and his right leg was—it was wrong. Twisted and the wrong shape, or the wrong size. There wasn’t a lot of blood, and somehow that enhanced the nightmarishness, like everything was off-balance. An injury this bad, there should have been blood.

Scotty fought against rising bile as his fingers slid again over the screen, opening a comm channel to the Transporter Room. “I need an emergency transport for Ensign Chekov from Engineering to Sickbay,” he barked, then closed the channel and comm’ed Sickbay as Chekov started to flicker out of sight. “Ensign Chekov’s on his way after an injury in a torpedo tube--what the hell happened, Garza?”

Ensign Garza, one of the men who’d brought Chekov out of the tube, and who was looking a little green himself, stepped closer to the terminal. “His leg was smashed between the wall and the torpedo. He was already freed by the time I got up there, but it’s—it’s a tight fit,” he said, swallowing hard and pursing his lips.

“Got him,” was McCoy’s only answer before the channel closed with a beep.

Scotty closed his eyes for a moment, breathing a quick prayer to no one in particular, then gathered himself to alert the captain.

———

Dr. McCoy had an analgesic hypo in his hand before Chekov had fully materialized, and after the briefest of visual assessments he knelt next to the kid and administered it near Chekov’s hip bone, saying, “All right, Ensign. You’re in Sickbay now. We’re gonna take good care of you.” 

The pain reliever wasn’t anywhere near strong enough, but he couldn’t give Chekov anything more potent until he saw the extent of the damage, so he and three nurses transferred Chekov from the floor to a backboard, and then finally onto a surgical bed. There was no amount of careful efficiency that could stop that process from being excruciating, and Chekov’s entire body tensed, twitching in an attempt to curl up, to protect itself.

Leonard nodded at one of the nurses, said “We’re just gonna have a look at the damage, here,” as the nurse cut Chekov’s uniform pants and peeled them away from Chekov’s damaged skin. Leonard couldn’t help his sharp intake of breath as he ran a medical tricorder over Chekov. Leonard had seen his share of crush injuries, but this was at least on par with the worst he’d encountered. It would require extensive surgery, so he loaded another hypo, this time with a general anaesthesia.

“Okay, I’m gonna help you with that pain,” he said now, taking a step closer to Chekov’s head. “This one’ll make you sleep, but I promise you, I’m going to fix you right up. All right?” He didn’t need Chekov’s permission to treat him. As ship’s doctor, he had implied consent for any treatment he deemed necessary. It was polite to ask though, and it helped build trust between doctor and patient, but especially in this case, he wanted Chekov’s approval, didn’t want to have to assume consent while Chekov slept.

Chekov surprised him by opening his eyes and reaching out with one hand, grasping at Leonard’s uniform, twisting his fingers in the fabric and pulling the doctor closer. “Please, Doctor,” he gasped, and his eyes were wet with pain, but under that, there was acceptance, there was consent. There was trust.

Leonard clenched his jaw, nodded, and pressed the hypospray against Chekov’s neck. The entire medical staff was relieved when Chekov’s body relaxed into sleep.

———

The surgery was a long one. Leonard used the surgical laser to open up Chekov’s leg, then resorted to tweezers to get the bones--chips, fragments, and shards--back where they belonged, meticulously reconstructing Chekov’s left leg. He used the osteogenic stimulator just enough to hold each new, tiny piece in place, a dab of the bones’ own glue. It was painstaking, and it was exhausting. Fresh officers replaced his surgical nurses before Leonard even got to the patella. He considered, briefly, leaving the kneecap for a lost cause and growing a new one, but that would take weeks, and even after that, Chekov would need another surgery and more recuperative time, so Leonard took deep, even breaths and pieced together all four bones.

When he finished, he ran the osteogenic stimulator over the whole thing several more times, then let the autosuture close for him. He didn’t relax until Chekov was in a recovery bed, his lower body under a stasis field that would keep him immobilized until he’d completely healed. Leonard thought five days, if everything went absolutely perfectly, which he wouldn’t know for at least 24 hours. The bones looked great, the blood vessels were repaired and replaced as needed, but nerves were the much trickier part of any injury, and there wasn’t a damn thing Leonard could do about them until Chekov woke up, since you couldn’t test reflexes or sensation on a sleeping patient. 

He felt like he was sanding down his eyeballs every time he blinked, and Leonard thought he must be dehydrated, despite the water the nurses force-fed him throughout surgery, because he was stiff and grimy, coated in dried sweat.

So he comm’ed the captain, knowing he’d be awake and wanting an update, then headed to his quarters, where Jim would be waiting for him.

———

When Leonard’s alarm woke them both up after only four hours of sleep, Leonard’s only feeling was relief. No one had comm’ed in the middle of the night. Nothing had gone wrong. Chekov hadn’t woken up too soon, his blood pressure hadn’t dropped under the anaesthesia, he hadn’t suffered a stroke from the stress his body had been put through. 

“I’m up!” he groaned at the computer, then flopped over onto his back, rolling his neck to look at Jim. Jim was already in the mirror of Leonard’s position, his eyes locking onto Leonard’s.

“Well, that’s a good sign,” Jim said, his voice rough with sleep.

Leonard nodded. He’d given Jim a very brief status update last night when he’d crawled into bed next to him, water still dripping off his skin because he’d been too exhausted to stand long enough to dry himself off.

“Did you leave instructions for visitors?” Jim asked, and Leonard sighed, turning his head away from Jim, to stare up at the ceiling.

“Not allowed, until I say otherwise. I know a couple people who won’t love that, but I’ll need to do some tests once he wakes up. And depending on his pain levels...it’s hard to say when.”

“I guess I’ll have some angry comms to answer, then,” Jim said, rolling out of bed.

Leonard watched him. Jim was always startlingly graceful in the mornings. Leonard himself staggered around and growled at things for at least ten minutes, first thing, but the second Jim decided to get out of bed, he was moving with as much leonine agility as ever. So Leonard appreciated the view of Jim’s naked body heading for his shower for as long as he could see it, and then he stumbled out of bed to start his own morning routine.

———

Jim went to the bridge first, to assure everyone there that surgery had gone impeccably, that the doc was optimistic, that Chekov was doing as well as anyone could hope. He got a status update, then went into his ready room to check his messages and make sure there wasn’t anything urgent from Starfleet. In all, he was on the bridge for about half an hour, and he was glad to leave. Most of his senior staff was on edge; no one was happy about Chekov’s current no-visitors situation, and Jim could feel Uhura’s pissed off eyes on his back when he walked to the turbolift. He’d have bet Sulu was also tracking him resentfully, but he’d _swear_ Uhura’s stares actually generated heat.

He comm’ed Scotty on his way to Sickbay, but Scotty had been in more or less constant contact with Medical, apparently, because he seemed to know more about Chekov’s status that Jim did, and Jim had slept with the damn doctor. 

He knew Scotty felt guilty. While Chekov was in surgery, Jim had recieved and reviewed incident reports from everyone that had been in engineering at the time, and Jim was not looking forward to the uncomfortable conversation he was due to have with Scotty. Jim couldn’t really blame him; they were all so used to placing their lives in the hands of their crewmates, but leaving a life-or-death task, however mundane, up to an ensign who’d been on board for less than thirty-six hours, whose work Scotty’d had no experience with, well. They’d have to talk about it. It would wait until Chekov woke up, until everyone knew for sure that Chekov would make a full recovery, when the reprimands wouldn’t cut so deeply and the self-recriminations wouldn’t already be bleeding.

In Sickbay Nurse Snyder told him that Chekov was asleep, just like Scotty had said he was, and she directed Jim to the private recovery room he was occupying. Bones was on a stool at Chekov’s bedside, his shoulders hunched, heels up and on the foot rest, his legs splayed bowleggedly. He held a medical tricorder, but he wasn’t actually doing anything with it, other than staring, so Jim thought maybe he was just staring at Chekov’s life signs.

“Still doing fine?” Jim asked, and Bones startled, his feet falling to the floor, back straightening.

“Yeah, I’m just--I was watching for deviations in his brain activity. He should start to wake within the hour.”

“Well,” Jim said, pulling another stool out from under the counter along the far wall, sliding it around to the side of the bed opposite to where Bones was sitting, “it turns out my crew has things pretty much under control right now, and I don’t have anywhere else to be.” He looked up, studying Bones, who had glanced back down at the tricorder and added, softly, “If you don’t mind.”

Bones’s lips were a little twisted when he looked up this time, like he wasn’t sure whether he should be pleased or annoyed, but his eyes when they met Jim’s were dark and full of all kinds of emotions. So Jim sat, and he watched Bones wait for Chekov to wake up.

———

It didn’t take long. After about ten minutes, Chekov’s brain activity started to change, and a few minutes after that, he began stirring. His fingers twitched, then his shoulders pressed back onto the bed, his chest lifting slightly, like he was trying to stretch his back.

Then his eyebrows came down, his already closed eyes squeezing tight, and Bones was ready with a hypo that he pressed into Chekov’s skin exactly at the same moment Chekov made a soft grunt of pain.

Chekov’s face uncreased, and his eyes opened slowly, focusing on Bones, who stood over him, bent a little at the waist. “Doctor,” Chekov said, his voice gravelly, “I am fixed up?”

Bones inhaled audibly through his mouth, and he blinked several times. Chekov was still groggy, not actually waiting for an answer. He probably didn’t even remember asking a question, so Bones closed his mouth again and answered with a short, “Mmm.”

And then Bones’s eyes snapped over to Jim, clearly just remembering he was in the room. “Could you go get some water, with a straw, for our patient here? And tell Nurse Snyder he’s awake, please.”

“Aye, Captain,” Jim said, grinning. 

———

A few minutes later, when the fog of sleep and anaesthesia had cleared a little, Chekov’s fear response kicked in, which Leonard expected. Chekov’s eyes widened, his pulse quickened, and Leonard kept himself close to Chekov’s face, taking up most of his field of vision, trying to keep his patient calm, keep him stable. He spoke confidently and evenly, assuring Chekov in measured tones that he was fine, that he was doing great, that he was being taken care of, and he’d be back to 100% soon. Just a week in Sickbay, Leonard said, you’re all patched up, and we just need to let your body work. He didn’t know how much Chekov understood of what he actually said, but Leonard’s tone, or Chekov’s faith in Leonard as a doctor, or maybe a youthful invincibility complex—something convinced Chekov not to panic, that indeed, he was going to be just fine.

Chekov didn’t remember a lot about the accident—just that he’d been in the torpedo tube and had heard a mechanical sound, felt afraid—then nothing. His brain protected him from the worst of the trauma, which Leonard was grateful for. And Chekov nodded, sipping water that Nurse Snyder held for him while Leonard explained why Chekov couldn’t move his legs, that the stabilization field would have to be in place all day, every day, to protect his injured leg while the fragile bones strengthened and healed.The osteogenerators would speed that, but the body needed some time to do its own work.

Leonard left Chekov under the care of Nurse Snyder for the rest of the morning, giving him time to get real, unsedated rest, to sleep on his own. When he returned after noon, Chekov was awake, fully reclined and staring at a wall. He smiled when Leonard walked into his field of vision.

“Doctor!”

“Well, now, that’s not a great sign,” Leonard said. “First day awake, and you’re already so bored that I’m a welcome sight.”

Chekov was too pale, but his eyes were clear, and when Leonard carefully checked his vitals, his skin was warm, his blood pressure steady, his pupillary response good. When he was sure that Chekov was alert and cognizant, that his short-term memory was functioning, Leonard sat down to hammer some things out.

“So you’re in great shape. There’s no indication of any complications, but you are going to be with us here for a little while. I can continue to oversee your recovery myself, or if you’d prefer, I can transfer your care over to Dr. Kovac.”

Chekov’s forehead crinkled. “I’m not--you are very busy?”

Leonard shook his head, not sure why he felt relieved by Chekov’s confusion. “No, no, it’s just whatever you’re comfortable with. I’m happy to do it--I can always pawn off some boring paperwork on Kovac. This’d be a good excuse, actually. Goddamn Starfleet and their million goddamn reports.”

Chekov nodded a little stiffly, and maybe there was some comprehension there, now, of why Leonard may have thought he’d want a different doctor, but Leonard didn’t give it time for awkwardness to settle in.

“I’d like to check your injured leg for sensation,” Leonard said, moving over to the biobed’s controls. “I’m going to take down the stabilizing field, but you _cannot move_. Just keep your legs as still as you can, got it?”

Chekov nodded, biting his lip.

While this—the nerves, the reflexes, the sensation—was the main thing Leonard was concerned about, since Chekov had shaken off the anaesthesia just fine, Chekov didn’t need to know that. Leonard was careful to remain calm and confident while he performed the exam. At the end, he couldn’t suppress a relieved exhale that Chekov had passed each of the tests with flying colors.

“You thought I would fail?” Chekov asked, his eyes heavy.

“I didn’t think you would, but it was a possibility. Nerves can be tricky little bastards, and the trauma to your leg was—it was considerable.”

“Hmm,” Chekov said. “You should play poker. I did not know to be worried.”

Leonard’s mouth quirked up on one side. “I do play poker, and I am pretty decent at it, not to toot my own horn. You can join my game when you’re outta that bed.”

Chekov grinned, his lashes falling to meet his cheeks. “I would like that. I am very bad at poker, though. I am a terrible liar.”

———

Leonard had felt a lot of things, sitting on that stool in Sickbay, watching Chekov’s heart rate on his tricorder, watching Chekov’s chest rise and fall out of the corner of his eye. His hands had been inside Chekov’s body, again, this time under the skin of his leg, and it was intimate and personal in a way that Leonard hadn’t ever regarded surgery as before. He knew that there was nothing to feel guilty about, this time, but it was twisted up with all of the rest of his emotional trash, garbage caught in a fishing line.

When he walked out of Chekov’s room to stand at a console, stabbing at it randomly with his index finger and seeing absolutely nothing on it, Leonard replayed on loop a few, specific moments in his mind. Chekov, blind with pain, grabbing his shirt and looking at him with complete faith. Chekov, waking up and repeating the words he’d somehow heard Leonard say through seizing agony, confident that Leonard had followed through on his promises. Leonard’s fingertips tingled at that memory, at the trust in those green eyes.

Leonard was proud of his surgical skill, and he was grateful for it, and now that he’d literally sewn a part of Chekov back together, he felt a little more whole himself. He’d met with Spock a few times, now, and he kept thinking, while he waited for Chekov’s organs to fail or for him to wake up, that maybe now that he’d done this, saved Chekov’s leg—and he wasn’t vain, but Leonard was realistic, and he knew, _knew_ that he’d done something special, here, something most doctors couldn’t or wouldn’t have done—Leonard wondered if maybe this earned him the right to believe the things Spock has been telling him. That Chekov didn’t hate him, that he didn’t do anything horrible on Denrovia, that he deserved to be at peace with himself. It was a fucked up way of looking at things, but Leonard was pretty fucked up. It wouldn’t be the first time that healing healed him.

Chekov made it clear, just now, that he was no liar. That he was no actor. That if he didn’t mean what he said, it would be obvious, and it’d looked, ever since Denrovia, whenever Leonard gave Chekov a chance to show it, as though Chekov trusted Leonard. Like he wasn’t frightened, like Leonard’s presence wasn’t traumatic, like Chekov would _choose him_ over other doctors, even now.

So maybe he should just...ask him. Let Chekov make the decision. Maybe it wasn’t as clear as Leonard thought it should be that he’d do whatever it was Chekov wanted or needed. Maybe he’d actually been robbing Chekov of agency, instead of protecting him. It was something to chew on, anyway.

———

Scotty came to visit as soon as Doctor McCoy opened the metaphorical doors, and sat on the bedside stool with his head in his hand. Chekov knew what was coming, and he didn’t need an apology and really would rather not have heard one, but he had learned that sometimes, people had things they just needed to say. 

“I canna tell you how sorry I am. This is—it never should have happened, and it’s entirely my fault. I am just—I’m so very, very, sorry.”

Chekov held out his hand, and Scotty extended his own so Chekov could curl their fingers together. “There are no apologies necessary,” he said, eyes wide and sincere. “Accidents happen, and I have plans to recover entirely. You’re my great friend, and while I do not think there is anything to forgive, I know you will buy me many drinks while I teach you all about how wonderful Russia is, anyhow.”

And Scotty exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for hours, then grinned and said, “I’ll buy you drinks, all right, and they’ll all be whiskey, not that swill you punish yourself with.”

———

Chekov only spent eight days in Sickbay after he woke up. For the first five of those, he remained completely confined to his biobed, his lower half frozen by the forcefield, which was terrifying though he did his best to swallow down the panic that started to rise every time he tried to move his legs and found he couldn’t. He did what he could to keep himself entertained, reading and watching vids on his PADD, sleeping as much as possible, because Dr. McCoy said he’d do his best healing in his sleep. He tried not to bother the medical staff too much, but when he considered how much he now knew about each of them—hobbies, romantic interests, what drew them to medicine and how they ended up on The Enterprise—he realized he’d probably less successful, there. 

But he couldn’t help it. A total of two hours per day of physical therapy, to keep his good leg from atrophying, another hour or so of visits from his friends, but the rest of the time, Chekov was bored out of his freaking mind. He was young, active, social, used to being mentally challenged for most of his waking hours. Sickbay was boring. Boring, lonely, and scary.

There wasn’t any certainty that his leg would actually support his weight, when it came time to test that out. Chekov woke up sweating more often than not from dreams where his bones crumbled away into dust. The staff in Sickbay were all full of reassurances, when he fished his way around to receiving them, but he didn’t really think they could know, not for sure.

He knew how lucky he was to have friends that visited whenever they could, but no one aboard the Enterprise had a whole lot of extra time—they worked long shifts, then managed research projects or followed up on lines of inquiry on their own time. Jim came multiple times a day, soft eyes and a quick grin that Chekov welcomed eagerly, but the captain of the Enterprise was never not in high demand, and he could never stay more than fifteen minutes at a time. Uhura and Scotty came most days, too, both full of ship’s gossip that Uhura relayed in whispers and Scotty in shouts, and which was mostly received with a lot of giggling and gasping that had Chekov feeling grateful for the field protecting his leg from his own reactions. Spock came every few days and stayed for half an hour to tell Chekov about the official business he was missing. Chekov wasn’t sure if it was part of his duties as first officer, as his counselor, or just the way Spock went about friendship to an unwell friend.

Hikaru spent as much time on the stool next to Chekov’s bed as he could, and Chekov had to urge him to leave most nights, either when Hikaru couldn’t stifle his yawns or Chekov’s eyelids started to droop or Chekov’s vision started to go fuzzy with the sudden exhaustion recuperation inflicted.

On his fifth night in Sickbay, Chekov was carefully maintaining a tone of cheerful exasperation as he declared, “You can hardly keep your eyelids up, Hikaru!” He wasn’t tired yet, but Hikaru clearly was, and Chekov was trying to hide his private dread of the silence he’d be left with. Hikaru had just stepped through the doorway, his shoes rasping over the carpet in a reluctant drag, when Dr. McCoy walked into the room. 

Chekov knew what time the doctor had come on-shift that day, so he knew that he’d be leaving for the night, barring any emergencies, very soon. He was pathetically grateful that he was apparently due for a very thorough exam, and then surprised when Dr. McCoy sat down on the stool next to the bed, ankles crossed, knees wide, hands clasped in his lap, looking comfortable and like he had nowhere else to be, nothing better to do. 

“I’m impressed by your healing, honestly,” McCoy said with a slight shake of his head. “It’s gone as well as I could have hoped, better than I’d expected if I’m honest. I think we can take that stabilization field down tomorrow and start working on getting the strength back in that leg.” 

Chekov blinked, a second passing before it sank in, and then a grin burst onto his face.

“Don’t get carried away,” Dr. McCoy said, extending a hand like he could hold back Chekov’s hopes. “You’re not leaving Sickbay tomorrow, or the next day. And you won’t be back to work for a while yet, even once I release you. I want to give that leg plenty of time. It’ll have to last you another century, at least.”

Chekov nodded enthusiastically, his grin not sliding a fraction. “Yes, of course. Whatever you think is best.”

Dr. McCoy pursed his lips and angled his eyebrows into an expression Chekov thought of as ‘hmph.’ 

“You’re the most agreeable damn patient I’ve ever had,” McCoy said, crossing his arms. “It’s annoying, and you’re really screwing up my staff’s expectations. At least complain about the food.”

Chekov laughed, pointed out that the food was exactly the same as he’d be eating anyway, but, “I promise, I will find something to complain about. It may be hard tomorrow, though. Ay yai yai, to be able to move myself. To be moving forward, at all, is—nothing against your care, which is exceptional of course, but I do miss my own bed.” 

“Well, now, don't get too far ahead of yourself. You’ve got at least a few more nights here, so you’ll have to suffer my company, yet.”

Chekov’s smile softened, and his voice went very quiet, very sincere when he said, “Your company has been very nice. Considering your feelings about—considering everything that has occurred, you’ve been more than kind, very compassionate, very dedicated. I am so thankful to you.”

Dr. McCoy shook his head and looked away, clearly uncomfortable. When he stood up, minutes later, telling Chekov he’d be back to free him from the manacles in the morning, Chekov got the distinct impression that he’d chased the doctor away.

———

Chekov really was healing up at practically warp speed, and he was by all accounts a model patient. Leonard hadn’t heard a bad word about him from the staff, hadn’t heard a word of negativity or impatience from the patient himself. He was overeager with Leonard, a mixture of social starvation and an obvious desire to please. He supposed ‘teacher’s pet’ was probably a place that a prodigy felt fairly comfortable in. It was a mixture of endearing and grating, heavy on the endearing.

Chekov had been badly hurt, and Leonard had hated that. It went beyond the way he felt when any of the crew were injured, which was pissed off that they kept getting themselves banged up and a strong desire to make them well, to be his best for them. He’d felt responsible for Chekov during his recovery in a way he only ever felt for Jim when Jim was hurt, and Leonard was pretty close to hating that, too.

Jim kept trying to trick him into talking about it, how he felt having Chekov there, in his space, all the time. Leonard wasn’t going to be nudged into that, but Spock had the gall to outright ask about it—and Leonard fucking hated therapy—so Leonard grudgingly acknowledged some things. 

Namely, he didn’t hate having Chekov around. He didn’t think about Denrovia every time he saw him, didn’t feel that hot pit of guilt whenever Chekov’s name was mentioned. And he kept going back to what Spock had said, about how Chekov didn't hate him, and how Jim had said that Leonard had been actively hurting Chekov by avoiding him. Because Chekov certainly didn’t seem to be angry at him. He was maybe nervous for the first few seconds of their interactions, but he’d firmly rejected Leonard’s offer to have Kovac oversee his recovery.

Leonard owed Chekov some things. An apology, an explanation, some flexibility, a choice. Now he thought Chekov might actually appreciate being offered those things. 

———

It was Chekov’s last day as a full-time Sickbay inhabitant. He’d be back, of course, for physical therapy, for scans, for exams, and he wasn’t cleared for duty yet. But he’d be sleeping in his own quarters tonight, and he’d been smiling all morning, indecently gleeful at the prospect of moving back towards his real life.

Leonard was alone with Chekov in the room Chekov would be vacating today, studying the most recent image of Chekov’s leg, nodding approvingly. “Everything looks good,” he said. “I think you’re ready to break out of this cell.” 

Chekov was biting his lip, tapping his toes in anticipation while Leonard pulled up a slew of forms on his PADD. 

“I’ve seen the initial scans of my injury,” Chekov said, the words bursting from him. “You downplayed the severity of the damage, but I cannot believe you were able to repair it so thoroughly. Only eight days later, and I haven’t even a limp! You—”

Leonard looked away and arched his brows sardonically, brushing off the praise, “Well, that’s the job, isn’t it.”

“No,” Chekov interrupted, firm, his eyes steady on the doctor’s face until Leonard finally turned back to meet them. “You truly have done more than another physician could have. You rebuilt my _entire leg_ from teensy fragments in a single surgery that lasted over 12 hours. That is well beyond ‘the job’. I believe you would have done it for anyone, but you did it for me, and I am awed and so, so grateful.”

Leonard was quiet for a long moment, eyes on the wall past Chekov’s head. “I don’t hate you,” he said.

Chekov’s head jerked back, his eyes wide, his mind blank. 

Leonard cleared his throat, his fingers tapping together. “I don’t know that you thought I did, but it’s been suggested that I’ve been acting—well.” He looked away. “I don’t hate you. I don’t blame you, I don’t respect you any less. I’m just...not a people person. I always do the wrong thing.”

Chekov’s heart was pounding in his ribcage, but his voice didn’t waver. “I also do not hate you.

And Leonard exhaled in a huff, pushing his hair back from his forehad. “I don’t see how you can mean that.”

Chekov’s body language screamed nervous, shoulders pulled in, hands pressed between his thighs, bottom lip caught between his teeth. But his eyes and voice were steady. “It is not helpful for you to question or deny my feelings.”

Leonard’s mouth dropped open, gaping for a moment before he half smiled, shaking his head. “You impress the hell outta me, kid.” He sighed, then, the smile dropping off of his face. “You’re right, obviously And I didn’t mean to do that. I just—you’re not angry, you’re not scared, you don’t—you don’t want to run when you see me?”

Chekov’s eyebrows met, his lips pursed. “I don’t understand why you think I should feel any of those things. I have been attempting to stay out of your way, to give you the space you obviously have wanted. And if I’m honest, to avoid the embarrassment of you fleeing my presence. But—Dr. McCoy, you have saved my life, multiple times now, and I feel _only_ thankful to you for each time.”

“Well, great,” Leonard muttered. “I’m an asshole.”

Chekov’s face contorted in a surprised giggle, and Leonard stood up, pushing his chair back. “I was avoiding you because I thought you’d want that, or, I guess, because I’m not big on facing my own demons. I exiled myself from an entire planet so I’d never have to see my ex-wife again—and maybe it was just easier for me to tell myself I was doing you a favor by keeping my distance. I didn’t mean to make it worse. And I’ll stop that, now.” He looked down at the PADD in his hand, Chekov’s discharge forms glowing damningly. McCoy shook his head and muttered, “That should have waited until you were officially discharged,” before scribbling his name into the signature line. 

He set the PADD down, then, and extended a hand. Chekov took it, allowing the doctor to assist him off of the biobed.

“Feels all right?” McCoy asked, watching Chekov shift from one foot to another, testing his leg. “Like new, Doctor,” Chekov said, all teeth.

“Then I’m releasing you to _at least_ two days of rest before you resume your regular duties. I believe Lieutenant Sulu is out there wearing holes in the floor of Sickbay in his eagerness to escort you to your quarters.”

Chekov didn’t dare skip out of Medical, aware that Dr. McCoy would sentence him to another few days in a biobed for his recklessness. But the urge was there.


	5. Lose Sight of the Ground

Jim doubted that anyone had ever looked forward to shore leave as much as he was looking forward to this one. There’d been months of unbroken work, exploratory missions to observe deep space phenomena and diplomatic assignations. Finally, he’d gotten a chance to schedule some real vacation for his crew, and, maybe most importantly given how frayed things had been in his personal life, himself. Jim was practically thrumming with his eagerness for this, a minute to breathe, to set aside Captain Kirk and be Jim, instead. He loved the Enterprise, loved captaincy, but it was a constant state of being on standby. Even in his off hours, even in his quarters, he couldn’t ever get actually drunk or sleep really deeply or relax enough for that knot in his shoulder to fully dissipate. Jim had learned to take full advantage of shore leave when it came, and he had every expectation that this particular shore would be _awesome_.

They were in orbit around Terrace 2, one of the first Earth colonies to have been established using terraforming. The entire planet was devoted to agriculture, terrace farming to be specific, and it was gorgeous from the air, vibrant green broken by bright blue pools and nothing else. It was a primitive world, by design, the original colonists having mapped it out to be a peaceful escape from modern society—a throwback to agricultural societies of the past, sans the historically accurate raiding parties and wars between clans, and with the addition of modern conveniences like indoor plumbing and climate control. There was no better place for the Enterprise to restock on various foodstuffs, and since Terrace 2 was also a popular vacation destination, Jim had arranged a full week’s stay. 

The first day there, Jim went straight for a bar. He had plans for hiking and soaking in the suns’ light, but he figured all that could wait while he indulged in the favorite past time of the old Jim Kirk, legendary fuck-up and general leech on society. He made his way to a small pub that an admiral had clued him into after he’d filed their flight plan, an out-of-the-way dive frequented by locals and tucked away on one of the side streets, a distance from the transport site and bustling tourist spots. He loved his crew, obviously, and when their five years were up, Jim would be damn happy to get shit-faced with any one who was part of it, but for now, he was their captain. His crew needed to trust completely and unquestioningly every decision he made, and Jim was aware that those sometimes appeared impulsive, even irrational. There were only a handful of people that Jim was completely sure would be able to maintain total faith in him after seeing him sloppy. Jim was looking forward to getting sloppy, so he headed for a place it would be difficult for his crew to stumble across.

It was, therefore, a pretty big surprise when Jim walked through the door and saw Ensign Chekov. He was in a booth with his arm around a woman, and they were both laughing, Chekov telling a story loudly and gesticulating dangerously with a tumbler in his hand. The woman was frankly beautiful, but also older than Jim would have expected Chekov to go for, although she probably wasn’t a lot older than Bones.

Jim was a little stunned, admiring a totally relaxed Chekov and deciding whether to turn around and leave, to try to find another place that was actually free from his crew. He was tempted to stay, to spend some time admiring the happy flush on Chekov’s cheeks and learning what he was saying with such enthusiasm, but he thought Chekov might not be so eager to pass his free time with his boss, especially when he’d clearly found someone whose company he enjoyed. Chekov must be looking for a certain kind of privacy for himself, to have ended up here, not having brought so much as a wingman. 

But then Chekov looked over, saw him, and shouted, “Captain!” standing and waving as though somehow Jim wouldn’t notice him in the markedly not-crowded establishment. His decision made for him, Jim grinned, toothy and cocky, and he swaggered over to the table.

“Captain,” Chekov said again, smiling that same loose, exuberant smile. “I’m surprised to see you here!”

“Yeah, it’s sort of off the beaten,” Jim said, reaching out to clasp Chekov’s hand in greeting. “How you’d find yourself here?”

“Oh!” Chekov turned toward the woman, still in her seat, eyes still sparkling, now with pleasure instead of laughter. “This is my Aunt Olesya! My father’s sister, but she and Dyadya Vasily live here.”

Jim felt himself relax, a tiny coil of something unwinding in his stomach. He told himself it was because he was relieved at not having interrupted anything, not having made a nuisance of himself, and of course he remembered now that Chekov has no interest in women. “Oh, hey. That’s lucky,” Jim said, extending a hand to shake Olesya’s. “I’m Jim Kirk.”

Olesya laughed brightly, and her voice was even more heavily accented than Chekov’s. “Yes, I know. The famous Captain Kirk! The bars by the transport site are full of people hoping to catch a glimpse of you!”

Jim chuckled, pinking a bit at the tips of his ears. He didn’t mind attention, but being reminded that he was something of a celebrity made him a little embarrassed. Self-conscious. He’d always expected infamy for himself, rather than fame. 

“I’m glad I came here, then,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “So what do you and your husband do?” he asked, expecting them to be farmers, like pretty much everyone on Terrace 2 was.

“Ah, he own a distillery,” she said, and Jim perked up. 

“Really?”

“The best in the quadrant,” Chekov said, obviously bursting with pride. “They use Zarian potatoes--”

“Which are grown here, free totally from soil contaminants,” she interrupted.

“To make the absolute best vodka you will find anywhere. It goes down like water!” Chekov exclaimed. “You will have some!” and he turned immediately to bounce toward the bar without waiting for a response.

Jim shook his head, eyes on Chekov’s back as he walked away.

So Jim,” Olesya said, still smiling, but appraising, now. “Pasha has been telling me about his adventures on the Enterprise. He talks very much, and very fondly, of you.”

Jim sat down at the table, and met her eyes. “I certainly try my best to deserve that. Pavel is one of Starfleet’s best.”

“Yes, he is a very special boy, our Pasha. So intelligent and brave. But also very young. And--sweet?” She looked like it wasn’t exactly the word she was looking for, and she shrugged as she said it. “He needs to learn many things still, and he needs people to watch over him as he does.”

Ah. Jim raised his eyebrows, held Olesya’s eyes. “He has them,” he promised, and the words settled in his belly, glowing and hot in a satisfying way, sealing.

“Here,” Chekov said, placing a glass in front of Jim and throwing himself back into his seat. “You will be amazed.”

And Jim was amazed. The vodka was smooth and strong, and he drank and guffawed through Chekov’s Tales From the Enterprise, which had been heavily embellished unless Jim recieved a lot of incomplete mission reports. It was probably a mixture, and Jim enjoyed hearing them whatever the case, enjoyed Pavel’s brashness, his looseness, enjoyed Olesya’s laughter and her head shaking and soft exclamations of disbelief.

Eventually, Olesya rose, ruffling Pavel’s hair and kissing him on the forehead. “It is time for these old bones to find their bed,” she said, “but I would love to have you both come to our house for dinner tomorrow evening.”

Jim was drunker than he’d been in a year, and he accepted immediately, slurring, “I’ll _totally_ be there, you are so cool.”

Pavel laughed, surprisingly not drunk, considering that he’d seemed pretty inebriated when Jim walked into the bar, but he really hadn’t drunk much since then. “I will ask the captain again tomorrow, but I will see you for sure.”

As Olseya walked out, Jim slumped to the side, resting his head on Pavel’s shoulder. “That Zarian vodka is snakey shit,” he mumbled, and Pavel laughed, sliding an arm around Jim to keep him upright.

“You are simply not an accomplished enough drinker. You will need more practice,” Pavel chided.

“I’ve got more experience tht you possibly could. ‘M just rusty,” he mumbled, rubbing his face against Pavel’s shoulder to scratch his itchy nose.

“Possibly,” Pavel said. “But I think you have kicked off enough rust for one night.” Pavel pushed Jim off of him enough to stand, then reached out to help Jim up, too.

“Okay?” Pavel checked, and Jim smirked.

“Sure, never better,” he said, shrugging and stumbling from the movement.

Chekov laughed and put an arm around Jim’s waist to steady him. “The trick,” he said, as they moved toward the door together, Jim supporting most of his own weight, even if the room kept tilting in different directions, “is to pace yourself. I, for example--”

“Yeah, I don’t really do things in moderation,” Jim said. “I guess you haven't noticed. I’m an all-in sort of guy.” He breathed deeply as they stepped through the door, inhaling some of the cleanest, sweetest air on any Federation planet. He leaned back agains the stone wall of the pub to steady himself, let the fresh air do a little bit of work on his blood stream.

“Except in relationships,” Pavel said, and Jim’s eyes cut to his face, found it pink and Pavel looking like he’d spoken out of turn.

Jim sighed. “Got me there,” he admitted, closing his eyes and tipping his head back against the wall.

“I should not have--”

Jim held up a hand, perfectly still otherwise to keep the spinning from starting up again. “Nah, we’re friends, right? I guess we’d better be if you know me as well as that,” and he rolled his neck to look at Chekov.

“We are friends,” Chekov said. “You have been very kind to me.”

Jim laughed, abrupt and barking. “Not so kind. Maybe at first, but--I just like you.” He pulled himself away from the wall so suddenly that Chekov blinked, and in that instant of darkness, Jim was in front of him, stepping into him so that Chekov stumbled back into the wall. Jim’s hand came up to cradle Pavel’s head before it could make contact with the stones of the wall. “More than like you, actually,” Jim breathed, warm and boozy and very close.

If he hadn’t been drunk, it wouldn’t have happened. If he hadn’t been drunk, he’d have smiled a lazy smile and made a joke about everybody liking Chekov, about how it would be impossible not to like him, unless he got them all lost in the Delta Quadrant. But he was drunk, and he wanted Chekov, and drunk Jim wasn’t used to denying himself things. So he closed the gap between them, pressing his lips against Chekov's, artless and intense, licking inside Pavel’s mouth. It opened easily for him, and when Chekov’s hands came up to cup Jim’s neck, Jim moved even closer so that their bodies were crushed together, from toes to cheeks.

Minutes passed, Pavel making eager little noises in the back of his throat, Jim running his left hand down the flank of Pavel’s body while his right tangled in Pavel’s curls, soft and springy and a little damp. These were not lazy explorations or desperate attacks; their tongues slid against each other in some middle ground of ‘gosh, I want you, and this, just this right here, is really great.’ 

When he pulled back, it was only to rest his forehead against Pavel’s, sharing air that was humid with breath and sweat and desire. Pavel opened his eyes and stared into Jim’s, a little smile teasing up the corners of his lips.

“Jesus,” Jim said, “You’re amazing.”

Pavel wasn’t sure in what way, but he didn’t question it. He was enjoying this, this closeness, the floating feeling of being within reach of something he’d been wanting for so long. He knew it was fleeting, and he let himself revel in it. “You’re not so shabby yourself,” he said, grinning. And when Jim tilted his head and ducked back in to press his mouth to Pavel’s again, Pavel let him. Closed his eyes and breathed in Jim, Jim’s heady musk, the scrape of Jim’s barely stubbled jaw against Pavel’s smooth one.

And then Jim bent his legs, just a little, just enough, and angled his hips forward so that Pavel gasped into Jim’s mouth and saw lightning on the backs of his eyelids. He opened his mouth wider, angled his hips, too, sliding his hands down to grip Jim’s biceps, eagerly pressing into Jim’s body, just for a minute.

And then Pavel’s grip became a push, his arms straightening to make space between them, and Pavel pulled his head back, dropping his head to center himself, swallowing cool, fresh air.

“Pavel?” Jim’s voice was unsteady, worried, and confused. 

“We can’t,” Chekov’s voice was quiet with regret.

”Okay.”

Chekov’s head jerked up, and finding concern in Jim’s eyes, he dropped his arms, sighed. “Not because of anything that has—just because of Doctor McCoy. Your relationship.”

“Doctor—oh,” Jim shook his head. “No, it’s all right. I’m allowed,” and Jim smiled. Problem solved, kissing could resume.

“Allowed?”

“Yeah, Bones and I aren’t like—it’s sort of an open relationship.”

Chekov ‘s shoulders dropped a little, disappointed, and his jaw firmed. “I am not open.” 

“You’re—um,” Jim squinted, tilting his head to one side, “you’re closed?”

Pavel huffed a laugh. “No. I just—I don’t want to be your...piece on the side.”

“Oh,” Jim said. “You, I—that’s fair.” He shrugged, self-concious. “I don’t think you’d necessarily—”

“I,” Chekov interrupted, firmly, “don't think we should be having this conversation, tonight. I wanted all of this, the kissing, the, um. The being wanted by you. But I do not want what more you can offer me. If you want to talk more tomorrow, when you are not so drunk and I am more on my guard, that will be fine.”

Jim swallowed, not feeling too drunk, maybe not feeling drunk enough, but he let it go. “Okay.”

Chekov took a cleansing breath, straightened, and said, in a completely different tone, more like the animated, boastful Chekov from inside the pub twenty minutes and a hundred possibilities ago, “Captain Kirk, I would appreciate an escort back to the transporter site.”

———

Jim woke up with a headache, a dry mouth, and a crystal clear memory, so he lolled around his quarters for a few hours, groaning in pain and wallowing in his qualms before finally deciding he wouldn’t let a hangover and a questionable decision keep him from enjoying a rare week of relaxation.

He got dressed and comm’ed Bones, who had duty shifts these first two days, just to check in and say ‘hey’. Everything onboard was as calm and frankly boring as he’d have hoped for, so Jim spent the day hiking through the rolling hillside and eating a packed lunch by a stream. A couple of hours later, his body was pleasantly tired, the air was warmer than he’d expected, and he hadn’t remembered the sunscreen Bones had been haranguing the crew about for a solid week, so he transported back up to the Enterprise.

Showered and dressed in jeans, a mustard t-shirt (he did love that command gold) and a denim jacket, Jim finally ran out of time and worked up the nerve to comm Chekov.

“Kirk to Chekov.”

A second later, “Aye, Captain, Chekov here,” and Jim caught himself trying to analyze the tone, whether Chekov was nervous or angry or pleased to hear from him. He slapped his forehead into his hand, disgusted with himself.

“Hey, I was just checking in about dinner,” he said, wincing, wondering if he sounded desperate or maybe too aloof?

Chekov took a second too long to answer, and Jim’s stomach started to hurt, which was so fucking stupid, because what was this, seventh grade? “Yes, Captain, you are coming?”

Ugh, and now he’d been too wrapped up in his own idiocy to even hear whether Pavel sounded welcoming or not. “Yeah, I mean, I thought I would. Olesya was really--but if you’d rather I didn’t,” and fuck, fuck, fuck, what was he even doing--

“No, Jim, yes. I’m glad you’re coming! I was going to go down soon, actually, to have time to visit before dinner. I can meet you in the transporter room in half an hour?”

“Great, yeah, good,” Jim said, whyyyyy couldn’t he get his shit together, “I’ll see you then.”

Thirty minutes later, Jim and Chekov--both of whom had been a few minutes early to meet and beam down--were walking down a dirt and gravel road, away from the transport site at the center of town.

Jim was tense, his palms itchy and his mind totally blank. He always had something to say, he was the goddamn king of fucking small talk, and here he was, with maybe the only person he actually owed it to to try to put at ease, and there was just nothing. Chekov was sort of babbling around quicksand pits of uncomfortable silence, and every time Jim looked over at him from the corner of his eye, Chekov was sort of cringing, and Jesus--

“All right, fuck. I can’t handle this,” Jim said, taking a sharp turn off of the road, and Chekov, who’d been walking in that side of him, had no choice but to veer with him. Jim grabbed his arm and steered him the rest of the way to a huge tree that partially shaded the road with its canopy. Its trunk was wider than Jim and Pavel put together, and Jim wished he had space in his mind to marvel at it. “Look, I’m really sorry, I fucked up, I get that. I can go back to the ship right now, if you want, but I absolutely cannot spend the rest of the night doing this. Your aunt was really nice, and I wanted to--I like spending time with you, but fuck, _fuck_ ,” Jim held out both hands, palms facing and angled in at the bottoms, fingers splayed, the universal symbol of _‘what even is happening.’_

Pavel was nodding and pale underneath a hint of sunburn—and Christ was Bones going to lose his shit when everyone returned to the Enterprise all crispy. “Yes, this is terrible,” Pavel said, emphatic, his tone one of agreement. “I thought if you wanted to talk about it, you would, and you didn’t, so—but I do not want you to leave, and you do not need to apologize. I was an active and willing participant. I wanted to respect your wish to put it in the past, but it is very hard for me to act as though nothing happened.”

Jim exhaled heavily, leaning back against the tree with a thump. “I should have apologized when I comm’ed, but I didn’t, and then it felt too late. No, I mean, I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen. I’d basically like for it to be happening right now, so it’s not like I have real regrets, unless it bothers you that we--shit.” Jim dropped his head, pushed his fingers back through his hair. “No pressure, obviously, I shouldn’t have said, well. That.”

Pavel pushed himself back against the tree in the same manner that Jim had, their shoulders brushing. “It is very complicated. But it doesn’t need to be? I also have no regrets; I was not drunk, and I allowed to happen exactly as much as I could feel okay about happening.”

They were quiet, but Terrace wasn’t; there was far less ambient noise than there was aboard a starship, even one of the Enterprise’s caliber, but the noise was different, and so they noticed it more--insects zinging through the air, leaves shuffling in the wind, birds tsooing.

“Why’d you let it happen at all?” Jim saw peripherally that Pavel’s head turned toward him, but Jim kept his own still, staring straight ahead at farm buildings in the distance.

“I wanted it,” Chekov said. “I want you. So I let myself have you, just a little bit. As much as I could have, with a manageable amount of guilt.”

Jim smiled in spite of himself. It sounded sort of like something he’d do.

———

Olesya and Vasily had a small house that Jim immediately thought of as a cottage, unpainted wood walls and few windows that made the interior dim, but it was clean and there were cheerful paintings of geraniums and knitted throws. It was cozy, and it was nothing like a starship and nothing like any home Jim had every lived in, and he felt warm and comfortable, right off, the same way he’d felt alone by the creek that afternoon. No pressure to perform.

Pavel was different there, too. He was relaxed in a way that Jim would have thought of as sleepy, except it wasn’t that at all. His smile was loose and happy, none of the ebullience Jim associated with off-duty Chekov. He actually seemed older, and Jim hadn’t realized how much of his guard Pavel must have constantly had up until he saw him with it completely down.

Pavel touched his aunt and uncle a lot, too, and maybe he was like that with Sulu one on one, but Jim hadn’t noticed it when they were together in public. Pavel came up behind his aunt to rest his cheek on her shoulder as she rinsed lettuce, he ducked under Vasily’s arm when he gave a short tour of the house to Jim, keeping close and walking with him. He put his hand over his aunt’s when it rested on the dinner table between courses, and he pressed his head into Vasily’s hand when he ruffled Pavel’s curls, like a cat being petted just right.

When they moved from the table to the overstuffed sofas with their wine glasses, Chekov sat very close to Jim, and after a while, he leaned back and overbalanced, tipped into Jim instead of straight back into a cushion, and he stayed there, resting against Jim. Jim liked that, liked that at least while he was here, he was a person Pavel could touch comfortably. He liked everything about being here, the gentle teasing that Olesya and Vasily nudged at Pavel, the hum of affectionate conversation, the way Pavel’s lips curved up a little every time one of them called him “Pasha”, which was a lot. It was constant, in fact, and it was obviously a nickname that Pavel appreciated, that made him feel good. Jim wondered why he’d never heard it before.

“Oh, Pasha,” Olesya said, her voice thick with love and regret, coming to a stand. “I cannot keep my eyes open another minute.”

Pavel stood, stretching with a groan, then wrapping Olesya in his arms, holding on. “I have a shift tomorrow, but I will be back on the planet for breakfast the next day,” he said, his voice muffled by her neck.

Jim was ready for a handshake, but his arm was knocked to the side and he was hugged by Vasily instead. “It was so nice to meet you, Jim. It is good to know our boy is in good hands,” Vasily said, and Jim felt shy, suddenly, so he just offered his thanks for their welcome and hugged Olesya energetically when she came his way.

“You boys can stay and drink as much of our wine as you’d like,” Vasily offered as he pulled back from his embrace of Pavel.

“That’s really kind, but” was on Jim’s tongue, but Pavel spoke up before he could say it. “Thank you, Dyadya, we will endeavor to drain your entire stock.”

Jim heard Olseya’s tinkling laugh and Vasily’s deep chuckle, watched them join hands and walk into the hallway, out of sight.

Chekov sighed heavily, sinking back into his seat on the couch, so Jim did the same, taking back the same seat at the arm he’d occupied before, very close to Chekov. “They’re great,” Jim offered.

Chekov nodded. “They are. I am so glad that we were able to stop here.” 

“Yeah, you never mentioned you had family here.”

“Well, it is not as if we can reroute the entire Enterprise so that I can visit with my aunt and uncle. But it has been a long while since I have seen them, and to have so much time,” Chekov waved his hand, “it is a gift.”

Jim laughed. “Your accent’s gotten thicker,” he pointed out.

Chekov grinned proudly, leaning over to rest against Jim. “I miss it, the accent, the language,” he said.

Jim realized that they probably would all have been speaking Russian the entire night, that the English had been entirely for his benefit. “I hope you get a chance to speak a lot of it this week,” he said. “I appreciate being invited along, tonight, though. I never had, you know. This sort of thing.”

Chekov twisted his neck to look Jim in the eyes. “But you do,” he said. “Family can be the people you choose,” and Jim closed his eyes against the pools that suddenly gathered in them.

Jim took a long swallow of wine, and when his glass was safely back on the side table, he broke the comfortable silence. “Pasha, huh?”

“Mm,” Chekov said. “In Russia, it is very common to have a name that you rarely ever hear. Strangers called me Pavel, but always I was Pasha. Pashenka,” he laughed, “to my parents.”

“But no one on the Enterprise calls you anything but Pavel.”

“Da. I was not sure how to approach it when I got to the Academy, and so I never corrected anyone when they called me Pavel, even after we became friends, even though it felt very strange at first. Lonely, I suppose. And now, I am used to Pavel.”

“But you like it? As a nickname? You wouldn’t find it embarrassing or...I don’t know, belittling?”

“It is not a nickname,” Chekov said. “It’s just my name, to the people who--well, the Russian people who love me. It’s difficult to explain, but I would not find it embarrassing. It is another thing I have missed hearing.”

Jim slid his arm, the arm Pavel was resting against, around Pavel’s waist, pulling him back even closer. “I can do a terrible Russian accent, if you’re ever desperate,” he said, and Pavel laughed, and Jim smiled and felt a spark of accomplishment, and they finished their wine and talked about what it would be like to live in a place like this, where adventure was in the weather and neighborly gossip. They both agreed that it would be good, fulfilling and restful, but that they couldn’t actually imagine doing it.

———

Jim couldn’t remember a better week. He spent most of it with Bones, and maybe they put something in the water here, because even Bones was relaxed, frequent and easy smiles sliding over his face. He still grumbled and grouched, but there was no bite in it, no actual irritation or misery; it was just a habit, peeking through the peace. They visited farms, and Bones was in his element, chewing on tall grasses (that he scanned with a tricorder to ascertain their safety, because Bones would always be Bones) and talking crop rotation. Jim forgot, most of the time, that Bones had been basically raised on his grandfather’s farm, and it was interesting to hear his drawl becoming more prominent, too, despite not being exposed to people who shared it, like Chekov had been. He was just comfortable, more himself, and himself had a heavier accent.

Like Pavel, Bones was at home, here. This sort of life would have actually suited Bones better than the one he’d ended up in. He could have set himself up as a true country doctor, patching up people who’d fallen from horses, easing pains from arthritis, shit, he’d do house calls and deliver babies, and—

Jim swallowed around the knot in his throat, shaking away the possibilities. He couldn’t actually stand to think of it, a universe where Bones left the Enterprise, left him, and built a life on a planet like this one. A universe where Bones would be happy—happier, probably—without him.

But Bones was happy in this universe with him, too, so Jim focused on that, on the hills steep enough to be a challenge but not so steep as to pose any particular danger. On the fact that everything was so green it sometimes felt like it burned his eyes in its vibrancy. On the pond they stumbled across, so flawless it was nearly spiritual, isolated and just as forget-me-not blue as the sky.

“We’re going in,” Jim said, and Bones shook his head, but he already had the tricorder out, scanning for parasites, by the time Jim started shedding his clothes. He was pulling his own shirt over his head when Jim dove in, naked and whooping.

Naked Bones blended in with the flawless surroundings, trim but broad, muscled from hard work and healthy living, not sculpted with care for show. There was something honest, natural about his olive skin, dark wet hair slicked back out of his eyes and a wide grin, water running in tributaries off his body and back to the pool. They floated and swam, splashed waves and affectionate insults at one another.

And when Jim crowded Bones up against the bank of the pond, Bones didn’t complain about his back being pressed into the cold mud. He warmed his lips instead in the hollow of Jim’s shoulder, on the underside of his jaw, against the firm warmth of Jim’s mouth. He wrapped his arms around Jim pulling them firmly together so their bodies were flush, no path for sunlight between them.

Jim fisted one hand in Bones’s hair, gripped Bones’s ass with the other, pressed their cocks together and tilted his hips rhythmlessly, clenching his jaw against the feeling each time.

Bones was biting at Jim’s ear, licking the water down his neck as far as he could without breaking contact. And then he started talking.

Fuck. Bones didn’t do it often, only when he was incredibly turned on and wanted Jim there with him, but he was the dirtiest goddamn dirty talker Jim had ever been with. 

His voice was a rumble, the accent sludge, and “Jim, fuck, you’re such a goddamn slut for my cock. Can’t even wait to be somewhere private, gotta be out in the world where anyone could see you, moaning like a whore and shoving your cock against my belly.”

Jim bit his lip, squeezed his eyes closed, his cheeks hot and cock hard, thrusting faster against Bones, and it wasn’t enough, not when—

“C’mon sweetheart, you can give it better than that, can’t you? Use those muscles, _Captain_ , you must be fucking desperate, look at you, totally out of control,” breathed right into Jim’s ear.

Jim couldn’t wait, slid his hand between their stomachs and gripped both of their cocks. It wasn’t comfortable, water the worst lubricant, but Jim clenched his jaw against it, and he could hear in Bones’s voice the hitch that said the pain was worth the friction for him, too. So Jim went for it, jerking them both rough and quick, biting down on Bone’s shoulder as Bones started gasping, “Oh, fuck, Jim, fuck, your cock, your fucking cock, you’re so fucking,” and it didn’t take long at all, nothing like the sweet, lazy lovemaking he’d been considering when he’d watched Bones doing a languid backstroke earlier, his body hard and cock soft, gliding over the water’s surface.

Jim came, grunting and whining as he ripped his orgasm out of himself, and Bones was muttering a nonsense of filth when he came, too, his own orgasm a little smoother, like he’d already been there for a minute and had held back for Jim.

And then Jim slumped over, Bones and the bank taking his weight, their breathing out of sync and graceless as they collected themselves. When he could, Jim stepped back and straightened up, staying close enough to kiss Bones, soft and sweet, and to whisper “I love you,” so quietly he could have denied it. He tried not to wait for the reply that wasn’t coming, that never came, but the unobscured insect buzz stung anyway.

Bones smirked when they parted fully, said, “You ol’ romantic,” and Jim giggled and let himself slide beneath the water again, washing away all manner of sins.

———

Jim only saw Pavel a couple more times on Terrace 2. Once, Jim’d walked past Pavel and Scotty on the main road through town, them going and him coming, and Jim hadn’t really even thought about it before he stepped to the left and brushed Pavel’s shoulder with his own as they passed, tossing him a libidinous smile—what Bones called his “panty dropping smile.” Pavel’s eyes had widened, and he’d flushed, and that was all Jim had seen because it really was a three-second encounter. Jim probably should have felt bad, would have been kicking himself if he’d done that to any other crewman, but he heard Pavel laughing behind him, and Jim could just picture Pavel’s shock turning to delight.

The other time was the last night on Terrace, when Jim dragged Bones to one of the more popular clubs, crowded with his crew, because fuck optics, Jim wanted to _dance_. And he had, although Bones refused to shift from his seat at a table (which Jim didn’t actually know how he’d gotten in the overrun space—he might’ve pulled rank, but it had probably just been a particularly deep frown). 

Jim danced with Sulu, who was doing a weird combination of bopping and head banging that Jim mimicked until they were both laughing too hard to stand. Jim danced with Uhura, who he had literally not seen since their first day here, and he pulled her obscenely close so that she was between his bent legs and grinded against her, and this planet seriously was magic, because she not only let him, she ground right back, laughing and breathless, long arms stretched up over her head. Drunk, probably, and Jim looked around for Spock and nearly had a heart attack because he was like a foot away, standing perfectly still in this sweaty sea of people, his lips turned down enough to be threatening. Jim smirked, shrugged, and finished out the song anyway, but graciously twirled Uhura at him when the beat changed.

And Jim danced with three aliens he’d never seen before and whose race he couldn’t identify, doing some sort of swing/square dance thing that they were all expert at enough to be extremely strong leads. He danced with a tall redhead from security, and she blushed the entire time, and he danced with his second string xenolinguist, who danced stiffly and talked through the whole song.

And he danced with Pavel. He’d been shooting bedroom eyes at Pavel since he first spotted him, not attempting to be subtle. He’d had a great week, and he’d spent most of it with Bones and basically all of it thinking, in one way or another, about Pavel. About those kisses, about the easy quiet between them at Pavel’s family’s home, about the way Pavel had said he wanted Jim. And about the way Pavel had looked under Bones, about the way he’d sounded, his breathy whimpers, and Jim felt incredibly guilty for those flashes of memory that made sweat prickle at the back of his neck and which, in a better world, he wouldn’t have had. But he couldn’t quite push them all of the way out of his mind, and so they sat, unacknowledged but pickling in a brine that soaked into every other part of his brain.

So near the end of the night, Jim didn’t have any brakes to apply when Pavel finally met one of his glances head on, not fluttering his eyelashes in mock flirtation or shaking his head in affable disbelief, not flushing and looking away. Just looking back at Jim, hot and bold like he hadn’t earlier that night, and Jim made his way through the crowd to Pavel. He insinuated himself right in between Pavel and whoever he’d been dance/chatting with before, sliding in and putting his arms around Pavel, pulling him close and licking his own lips, threading one of his legs between Pavel’s, still staring hotly into Pavel’s eyes. Pavel didn’t resist, wound his arms around Jim’s shoulders and leaned into him, pliant and sweet. He rested his head on Jim’s shoulder, and Jim leaned down to rub his cheek against Pavel’s hair, sweat damp and soft. “This is pretty fucked up,” Jim said, and Pavel nodded, but they were both hard when their hips swiveled together, and he felt Pavel’s panted breaths against his neck, irregular and harsh.

Jim would have run with it. Under any other circumstances, he would have ridden out the song, nudging Pavel further along to the pitch of this pulsing music and hammering arousal, then when he was helpless with it, Jim would have grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the club and to the first semi-private spot he could find. He imagined fucking Pavel in the grass behind a nearby hill, his skin shimmering in the moonlight, his back arched as he tried to stifle his cries.

But Jim understood that they were being watched, that he’d already taken it a step too far, because grinding against a giggling Uhura was one thing, when everyone knew she was firmly taken. Grinding against Pavel, who’d so fully surrendered himself to Jim that he couldn’t manage to look up from the crook of Jim’s neck, was a distinctly different matter. They were both too deep in this for it to look like a little bit of fun, like something flirtatious but going nowhere, harmless. He knew it looked like exactly what it was, which was two people who wanted each other and who shared either a past or a future or both. 

And maybe he couldn’t bring himself to care about his own reputation, which had sort of been established years ago and which everyone under his command had certainly heard about, even if they hadn’t witnessed it firsthand. But Pavel didn’t deserve to be the hottest topic in the halls of the Enterprise, not the way he would be if Jim did the things in his head. He was trying to figure out the most graceful way to break contact, worried that if Jim tried to make space between them, Pavel would collapse into it or move with him, which might be conspicuous. And Jim definitely didn’t want to step back and expose Pavel as half-fucked, blown pupils and flushed cheeks, which, Christ, Jim would love to see, but not here, like this.

So he slid his hands up, away from Pavel’s hips and waist, up to Pavel’s nape where he applied just a little pressure, enough to get Pavel to tilt his head back and look, see Jim’s wistful smile and remember himself, their situation.

Which he did, and Pavel straightened slowly, his hands unmoving around Jim’s shoulders, but Jim could feel air against his chest and belly even through his shirt, warm and humid but not close to the same level of heat that their bodies, pressed together, had been throwing off.

They finished out the song a minute or so later, and Pavel smiled ruefully and said, “I’m not sure what I was thinking.”

Jim shrugged. “I wasn’t, you probably weren’t. It’s so much easier than it should be.”

Pavel nodded, and Jim guessed that he understood what Jim had meant--that their bodies found each other easy to be around, which made things really fucking hard in a lot of ways. And then Jim took Pavel’s hand, led him through the crowd of people who Jim carefully did not avoid eye contact with. He winked and nodded, acting drunk and playing the coquette so that they’d brush off his dance with Chekov as just another moment of Jim living down to his reputation. He guided Pavel to the table Bones was occupying, and they found Uhura and Spock and Sulu there, too, and every damn one of them was eyeing Jim with disapproval, Chekov with concern.

Jim could fool a lot of people, but not a one of them was sitting at that table.

They didn’t talk about it, though, and then Scotty arrived with a tray of drinks, and Sulu slung an arm around Pavel, guffawing and pointing at something orange with a giant slice of pineapple stuck in it like it was some kind of inside joke, and Pavel’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open, a shriek of laughter spilling out of him. And everything slipped back into something more settled, just friends and shared history and shared future, and it eased Jim’s regret at having to let that moment pass, that moment with Pavel that a younger Jim, a more reckless Jim with nothing and no one to lose, would never have failed to seize.


	6. Begin to Tremble

As his furniture had not been replaced or altered in any way, Spock assumed that Pavel’s constant shifting in his usual seat on the sofa, the crossing and uncrossing of his legs and tapping of his toes, had an emotional rather than physical cause. He thought the best course would be to allow Pavel to open up in his own time about whatever was causing his restlessness, so Spock allowed the conversation to meander. Pavel told him about his relatives on Terrace 2, about how restorative his time with them had been.

“I didn’t realize that I was homesick,” Pavel confessed.

“It is very natural,” Spock said. “I would be surprised if you were not.” Spock thought about Vulcan, red and cragged and unforgiving, thought about it dissolving while he watched. “It is something we all experience.” 

Pavel opened his mouth, a breath away from understanding, and Spock shoved forward, disrupting the trajectory of Pavel’s mind. “Terrace 2 has many natural elements in common with those on Earth. Were you able to spend much time appreciating the similarities?”

“I did—yes, my tetka and I spent a day fishing, and I did a lot of walking around in their potato fields. Honestly, I’m not sure I took full advantage of the—” Pavel sighed, shook his head. “I spent most of the week thinking about Captain Kirk.”

Spock felt his eyebrows rise despite himself. 

Pavel smiled weakly. “I have…I suppose you might call it a crush.”

“I have noticed that there is some attraction between the two of you, but I was not aware that it was strong enough to preoccupy you.” Spock was careful to keep his tone neutral, not to betray any of the concern he felt.

Chekov pressed his lips together, glancing around as though he wished there were something interesting he could pretend to be studying, an excuse not to maintain eye contact. “It was not, but the first night we were in orbit, I ran into him at a bar, and the captain, um. We kissed.”

Spock kept his expression placid, his disapproval locked down tightly. Jim knew better, he was certain. “It is entirely within the realm of normal human behavior to develop romantic feelings even for those with whom such a relationship would be inappropriate or inadvisable,” he observed.

“And this would be inadvisable?” Pavel had begun fighting for his ‘v’s on a regular basis, but this one slid through, liquid, and Spock realized that he had betrayed his judgment, that he ought to walk it back, but.

“You are aware of Starfleet regulations concerning interpersonal relationships between officers and their direct superiors?”

Pavel nodded, and his gaze turned steely. “Yes, and such regulations also apply to your own relationship.”

Spock blinked. “Indeed they do,” he said, and he could see Pavel bristling, thought that Pavel’s feelings must be much more serious than he’d thought based on Pavel’s use of the word ‘crush.’ “And Lieutenant Uhura and I have notified Starfleet of our entanglement and made arrangements to avoid impropriety in our official capacities.”

“Which is also what—” Pavel cut himself off, rubbed his temples. 

Spock paused, gave himself a moment to find the right words. “You appear to have spent some time thinking through a scenario in which you and Jim begin a relationship.”

Pavel nodded, was slow to respond. “He came with me to my aunt and uncle’s house for dinner, and it—I just like him, very much, beyond physical attraction. And I know that he is in a relationship already, and that I am very much younger than him, and that people would be happy to twist anything between us for better gossip. It all seems impossible, but.” Pavel held out his hands, helpless, “I cannot help feeling this way.”

Spock tapped a single finger against his knee. Certainly, the official concerns could be dealt with; Jim would hardly be the only starship captain with a romantic partner serving under him. And people would talk, no matter what, so that concern didn’t merit evaluating. “Do you believe that Jim returns your feelings?”

Pavel bit his lip, but he nodded. 

Spock studied Pavel, picking his way carefully through a conversation littered with broken glass. “Do you think that the events on Denrovia have influenced your feelings for Jim, or his for you?”

Pavel’s answer came surprisingly fast. “Yes,” he said, and when Spock nodded encouragingly, “but I do not think that is necessarily bad. I always thought he was attractive, of course. There cannot be many people in this universe who do not find Jim attractive, he is very,” Pavel waved his hands, drawing illustrative shapes in the air. “I didn’t know him well, though, and I’m not sure that I would have if—he was very solicitous, afterward. He went out of his way to spend time with me, and we developed a closeness that we might not have, if things hadn’t happened as they did. And even if we had become friends, I would never have thought that he would have been interested in me that way, but on Denrovia,” Pavel trailed off. “Well, he did say that he’d thought of me as, as attractive and sexy, and I cannot stop knowing that.”

Spock considered this. He was always impressed by how self-aware Pavel was, and this was no exception. He’d already thought through his feelings, and explained in such a way, Spock could see the matter in a different light. He knew from experience that no one was entirely in control of who they fell in love with. So instead of trying to talk Pavel out of anything, he voiced a different concern, one that Spock thought would be much more difficult to work around than some logistics from the admiralty. “And Dr. McCoy?”

“I—yes. I don’t know how much you known about Jim’s relationship with him. I do not want to spread information that is supposed to be private.”

“It is admirable that you wish to keep other people’s secrets, although of course I will keep all of this in the strictest confidence,” Spock assured. “However, I do believe I have an understand of the basic arrangement between the two of them.”

“Right, so, it is not cheating or dishonest. I would never want to participate in anything that would be hurtful, and that is—well, that is my worry. It could still be hurtful to Dr. McCoy. He has been so uncomfortable in my presence, I cannot see how I would be a welcome intrusion into his private life.”

“You implied previously that Dr. McCoy had been more open to your company since your injury,” Spock observed, remaining neutral and rifling through different compartments in his mind, making certain he was not bringing anything from the “McCoy” file into this conversation.

“That is true. He is not avoiding me anymore, but things are still very complicated, and. Eesh,” Pavel closed his eyes, rubbed his forehead. “Everything is so very complicated, because I—we had sex, I had sex with Dr. McCoy,” and Spock did not question the phraseology of this statement, but made a mental note to examine it later, “and then he would not be near me for months, and now he will be, but if I were to be physically intimate with Jim, I cannot say how he would react.”

Spock thought that he had a pretty good idea of what that reaction would be. McCoy would be terrified, and he would hide it because he thought he owed Pavel a lot of things, and eventually, he would adjust, grow accustomed to the arrangement. “The worries you’ve expressed focus on whether he would be comfortable having you around, but have you considered whether you are entirely comfortable around him?”

Pavel hesitated, spots of red high on his cheeks. He looked away, and Spock wondered if he was about to be lied to. Then Pavel exhaled, ragged and long. “I am not comfortable, but I find him very attractive, as well, and. Even before Denrovia, I thought he was very handsome, but I have always found him to be intimidating, and I—I have some feelings for him. Those, I am not certain about. I don’t know if they come from a good or healthy place, how much is tied up with, the. Um. But he is very sarcastic and so smart and so kind…I have no idea how to navigate my feelings about him,” Pavel finished, breathless and fidgeting.

Spock rested his elbows on the arms of his chair and took his time folding his hands together, slotting each finger deliberately into its place. He was stalling, giving himself some time to sift through Pavel’s confession. He knew that Dr. McCoy had his own, labyrinthine feelings about Pavel, wondered if it was even possible for the two of them to find a way to meet in the center, kept all of that to himself. “Pavel, I realize that my counsel to you have often been to talk to other people, but in my experience, a conversation is often the straightest path forward.”

Pavel licked his lips. “You think I should talk to Jim?”

“Yes,” Spock said. “And also to Dr. McCoy. You are assuming feelings on his part that may or may not exist. He may not appreciate Jim’s choice of you as a partner, but he may be more open to it than you’d expect. If he is not agreeable, then any feelings you have toward him will be yours to work through on your own. If he is, then you will have time to unravel those feelings as you become better acquainted through your mutual relationships with Jim. Either way, you will need to know his feelings before you can do anything.”

Pavel’s shoulders sagged, and Spock thought this was what he’d been expecting and dreading. “I do not find it easy to talk to the doctor,” Pavel admitted.

Spock pressed his lips together in a hint of a smile. “Nor do I, Pavel.”

———

Pavel did not talk to Jim, not right away. He couldn’t avoid him entirely, and even if it had been possible, Jim was friends with all of Pavel’s favorite people, so to avoid Jim would have been to avoid them, as well. 

Jim, for his part, seemed to be trying very hard to be on his best behavior. He hadn’t changed much about the way he talked to Pavel, but he definitely touched him less, no hand on Pavel’s shoulder when Jim came over to look at his console, no arm slung casually over Pavel’s chair when they ended up next to one another in the mess. Pavel knew it was for the best, if he really didn’t mean to pursue a relationship with Jim, but it left him feeling a little lonely, too. 

Pavel tried to focus on things about Jim he did not like, but he quickly discovered that actually, the only things he didn’t like were that Jim sometimes chewed with his mouth open and that Jim often flirted outrageously with people who were not Pavel Chekov.

So Pavel gritted his teeth through shifts on the bridge while Jim sauntered around hips first and distributed toothy grins and clever banter. Pavel didn’t understand how Jim’s uniform seemed to fit properly only up until Jim leaned over Sulu’s console, at which time it rode up, exposing a sliver of Jim’s skin that sent a tsunami of desire at Pavel three times per shift. Pavel spent each moment of existing in a room with Jim Kirk feeling warm and excruciatingly aware—of his own body, of where Jim was, of Jim’s breathing and Jim’s voice. 

Pavel ended each shift feeling like he was on fire. Almost two weeks passed that way before Pavel found himself alone with Jim for the first time since he’d kissed Jim for the last time. 

Pavel looked at Jim, a nervous, turned on sweat prickling at his skin, trying not to move, not to say anything. The air on the turbolift was exactly the same as the air everywhere on the ship, but at that moment, it felt close, thin. 

“This is awful,” Pavel said.

Jim flinched. “I, uh.”

“Computer, halt lift,” Pavel ordered, then turned toward Jim, reached out and fisted Jim’s shirt in both hands, yanking and stepping forward simultaneously so that their bodies crashed together. Jim must have been ready for it, maybe he’d been expecting it for weeks, that Pavel would break and this would happen, because Jim’s hands went straight to Pavel’s hips, and he somehow controlled both of their heads so that their lips pressed together hot and soft, no teeth or noses involved. Their tongues slid roughly over one another, and Jim’s hands moved over Pavel’s hips, ass, back, grasping and releasing, roving and unstill. Pavel’s stayed clenched around the fabric of Jim’s uniform, a steady hold to keep Jim exactly where he was. Jim wasn’t trying to escape, but they couldn’t live in this turbolift, so after long, frantic minutes of making out like kids in a backseat, Jim did pull back, breathing hard, damp at the temples.

Pavel somehow convinced his fingers to release, and they both leaned against the wall of the lift side by side, regaining their control.

Pavel was still a little breathless when he said, “I don’t know how you can be so casual, always. I am maybe not dealing with this well, and also I am not as experienced as you are, or as accustomed to all of this. But I feel like this, and then I know that you feel—that I could, we could, because you want it also, and I do not understand how you can be so calm.”

“Pavel,” Jim said on an exhale. “I am not calm.”

Pavel closed his eyes and thumped his head back against the wall of the lift. 

“I spoke with my aunt about it,” he said, eyes still closed. “She asked, actually, she could tell there was something. And it worried her, because she had heard things about Captain Kirk, she said, ‘lothario.’ But we had dinner and she liked you very much, and she worried then because there was obviously something keeping us apart. So I told her everything.”

“You—oh, wow. Okay.”

“Oh,” Pavel said, finally looking at Jim again. “Well, not everything, not—I didn’t mention Denrovia, so I suppose she didn’t get the full story, but I did not really think that it was part of this story. This is _almost_ separate. But I told her about you and the doctor.”

“Okay,” Jim said, cautious, prodding.

“She said I deserve someone who loves me with his whole heart. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that he couldn’t also love someone else with his whole heart. So I thought—maybe it could work. I do not think I would become very jealous of you and the doctor. In my mind, you are together, and I would not want you to not be with him. But the doctor is complicated and mysterious to me, and I think he actually is a person who may become jealous.”

Jim started to say something, a protest, something stupid probably, about how he’d never not slept with other people and Bones had never minded. Very stupid, if that was the case, and Pavel held out a hand to staunch Jim’s words. 

“That doesn’t matter, anyway, because also, Dr. McCoy is very uncomfortable around me. And I would be around, you see?”

Jim tilted his head, brows drawn in. “Uh, Bones? He’s uncomfortable around everyone.”

Pavel shook his head, not amused. “I don't want you to break any confidences. But, I—” Pavel broke off, took a deep breath, then started again, his cheeks flaming. “I have feelings for Dr. McCoy, which are complicated and might make it very hard to spend so much time with him. If—if there isn’t any chance he would reciprocate, given time of course…Do you think?”

Jim swallowed hard. Did it again. “I don’t know,” he breathed. “I want to say yes. I really want whatever might happen, here, and I know that he would have, a year ago. I know that he’d have been pissed off and scared if I’d started dating you, because that’s brand new, me dating, not just,” Jim waved a hand, promiscuity swirling in the air it moved. “All that stuff I said on Denrovia was true. We wanted you, we talked about you. And you’re great, and he’d have gotten comfortable with you, and eventually he’d have…you know, you’d have ended up in bed, together. 

“I think it would have driven me batshit, waiting for it to happen, because he’s so fucking stubborn, but there’s no question; it would have happened. I don’t know about now, though. I’m just not sure he’ll ever get to a place where he feels okay letting himself have…you.”

Pavel nodded, and he looked so disappointed, and he was already turning away. Jim reached out, grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back. “Don’t. Wait, okay? I mean, we should ask him. If he flips out about us dating, or if he isn’t comfortable with you after a while, we’ll re-evaluate. Seriously, can you keep going like this?”

Pavel was quiet, staring into Jim’s eyes, and then he nodded. “Okay. Yes.”

Jim sighed, relieved and excited on one hand, shitting his pants on another. “Bones should be off-shift now. He’ll be in his quarters.”

Pavel blinked. “Now? Right now?”

“Yeah,” because Jim jumped in to everything with both feet. “What’s the point in waiting? Hoping you’ll talk yourself out of it?”

Pavel probably was. The risk here was so great, but Jim was also right. The past few weeks had been unbearable, and he couldn't continue on like that.

He directed the turbolift to Dr. McCoy’s deck.

———

Bones wasn’t in his quarters. Jim overrode the lock, which Chekov protested with a halfhearted mumble about coming back later, and which Jim ignored because Jim overrode the lock on Bones’s door at least twice a day. He made himself comfortable on the couch, crossing his legs and resting his right ankle on his left knee, spreading an arm over the low back, taking up as much space as possible.

Pavel bit his lip and surveyed the room with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Knock it off,” Jim said, smirking at him. 

Pavel’s forehead wrinkled, confused and adorable.

“Bones doesn’t actually bite, despite what he wants you to think.”

Pavel’s face smoothed, looking at his feet and smiling. “I suppose the worst that could happen is he’ll say no.”

“Well, shit, that would be terrible. Now I’m nervous.”

Pavel laughed, and Jim patted the cushion next to him, so Pavel went over to sit. He didn't mean to be so close to Jim, but he somehow ended up right next to him, their sides pressed together. When Jim’s arm slid down to rest over Pavel’s shoulders, the apprehension tensing his body shifted smoothly into anticipation, and when he inclined his head toward Jim, Jim’s face was so close, it was too easy to close that distance, to fall back into the hot, open-mouthed kisses of the turbolift. 

Jim’s arm tightened around his shoulders, pulling him even closer, and Pavel twisted to deepen the kiss. Jim reached with his free arm, twisting his own body until he could grip Pavel’s far hip, pulling until Pavel got the idea. He shifted, he lifted, he swiveled, not breaking the contact between their lips all the while, and finally swung a leg over Jim’s lap, settling into a straddle that was uncomfortable and exhilarating.

Jim rolled his hips up into Pavel’s, groaning at the contact, the ridge of Pavel’s cock hard and distinct against Jim’s own, and Pavel gasped into his mouth, pressing down with a jolt. He trusted Jim to take all of his weight, focused instead on thrusting and rubbing, the sensation through four layers of material worth any amount of friction burn later.

Jim hadn’t felt like this in a while, this out of control. He couldn’t think through the fog, frantic, ragged gasps not delivering quite enough oxygen, veins of lightning behind his eyelids that turned the black to orange every time Pavel swiveled his hips. 

His lips were on Pavel’s neck, tongue swirling salt over dewey skin, his hands were pushing Pavel’s shirt up, wanted it off but couldn’t find the space to make that happen, slid them down under the waistband of Pavel’s pants. 

Pavel yelped, threw his head back when Jim’s fist closed around his cock, and there was Russian in Jim’s ears when he started to move that hand, awkward, small motions because there wasn’t space for this, either. He wasn’t thinking, but his animal brain knew exactly what was going on, exactly how close Pavel was, knew that whatever Pavel was saying was a warning and a plea, and Jim kept moving that hand, kept dampening any skin he could find with his tongue. He felt a vicious satisfaction, a blinding surge of blood to his already iron cock, when Pavel shouted through gritted teeth, thrust himself violently into Jim’s hand, then went totally still, frozen outside of the pulsing of his cock, spilling over Jim’s fingers.

Then Pavel slumped forward, and Jim bit his own lip to stay silent and unmoving, still hard and aching as some awareness returned to him. He released Pavel’s softening cock and slid his hand out of Pavel’s pants, holding it carefully, messy as it was, away from the upholstery. He petted Pavel’s back with his other hand, waiting for them both to calm, for their heart rates to slow.

When Pavel finally pulled back, it was with red cheeks and a refusal to meet Jim’s eyes. 

Well fuck that. Jim reached up with his clean hand, cupping Pavel’s cheek until he finally earned some eye contact. “That,” Jim said, his eyes burning into Pavel’s, “was so fucking hot.” 

Pavel blinked, then grinned, shaking his head, still abashed, but sweetly so. “You are irresistible,” he said, and he started to rise, wrinkling his nose in discomfort as his swung his leg over Jim and came to a stand. 

Jim saw the anxiety creep onto Pavel’s face as he looked around the room and remembered exactly where they were and why they should not have done that here, of all places. “I’ll get you some new pants,” Jim said, jerking his head toward Bones’s bedroom and the bathroom beyond, “if you want to go clean up.”

Pavel did, and Jim went to the refresher instead, ordering up a new pair of pants in what he estimated to be the right size. He could hear the faucet running when he got to the bathroom door, so he knocked and looked away when Pavel opened the door just enough to slide the clothing through. 

Jim leaned against the wall to the left of the door, and he wondered if Pavel was still embarrassed. He shouldn’t be, which was obvious to Jim, but he thought that maybe if he were in Pavel’s shoes—well, shit he had been in Pavel’s shoes, and he had been embarrassed. He wouldn’t be now, but—“It really was hot, you know,” he said, loud enough to be heard through the door. “Fuck, you just went for it. You were so into it, and you dragged me right there with you.” 

Jim closed his eyes, replaying the memory of what had just happened, his fingers tingling with the urge to press against his cock, still mostly hard. “I swear to god, there’s nothing sexier than someone who lets themself get into it, and I mean, Christ, you’re damn sexy just tapping buttons. I was so fucking hard, I probably could have come, too, you’re really—”

But Jim ran out of words, because he opened his eyes and saw Bones standing in the doorway to the living room, his jaw clenched and eyes dark.

———

It was pretty unavoidable, the conclusion that Jim had screwed someone in Leonard’s quarters. Not goddamn bad enough that Jim catted around in his own space, but this was Leonard’s room, and there weren’t any visiting dignitaries onboard, so this was a crew member. Leonard had problems with that on several levels, not the least of which was that it was fucking insulting.

Jim tried on something like a smile, opened his mouth, and Leonard, well. Leonard started biting.

“This has got to be a record, Jim,” Leonard said, his voice low, his lips curled in disgust. “No, I mean, really, I’ve got to hand it to you, this is a new low. Not only are you inconsiderate enough to bring your joyrides into my quarters, my goddamn _home_ , but you’ve also decided that the entire galaxy minus 400 people can’t satisfy you, now you’re fucking your own crew, too?”

Jim was shaking his head, trying to say something, but Leonard couldn’t hear him over the fury buzzing in his ears, and Leonard had to raise his voice to even know which words were coming out of his own mouth.

“Christ, you’re a piece of work. This is the most fucked up bullshit I’ve seen you do yet, and you know, I’ve seen plenty. Get your new friend, and get the hell out of my room, this is not—”

There were other words in Leonard's head, cruel words, words like ‘whore’ like ‘trash’ like ‘can’t change his stripes.’ There was something deep in his gut with a death grip on those words, but it was only a matter of time before Leonard said something he couldn’t take back. Then his bathroom door slid open, and Leonard was saved that desperate regret by shock that cut out his tongue.

Standing in the doorway was Pavel Chekov, curls unmistakably ravaged, his skin pale. Leonard felt off, felt wrong, felt like this couldn’t actually be happening, that it must be a dream or a story he’d heard someone else tell. He watched Chekov lick his lips, open his mouth, but Leonard didn’t want to hear this, either. 

“I’d’ve thought you’d have had more sense,” Leonard said, noticing distantly that he wasn’t shouting anymore, that he sounded more bitter than angry. “Jim isn’t exactly the smartest person you could have pick—”

“Bones,” Jim said, his voice loud enough to be heard over Leonard’s, but it was the tone more than the decibel that got Leonard’s attention. It was Jim’s Captain Kirk voice, which he never used, ever, unless he was issuing orders. 

Leonard shut up and froze, looking around for whatever threat Jim saw. And Leonard saw Chekov. Chekov, who was ghost white, now, and shaking a little. His breathing was uneven, his eyes were wide, and Leonard had of course seen his share of panic attacks. He pretty much had Chekov’s medical records memorized at this point, and he knew there wasn’t anything in there about panic episodes, so he figured this might be the very first one Chekov had ever had. 

Leonard was at his side, close but carefully not touching. “Pavel,” he said, flipping the switch from Jim’s angry fuckbuddy to Dr. McCoy, making sure his voice was calm, reassuring. “You’re okay, Pavel, you’re having a panic attack, and you’re going to be just fine.” Leonard put a hand on Chekov’s shoulder, keeping his touch light and testing. “I’d like you to try breathing with me, if you can. Breathing will help, okay?”

Chekov squeezed his eyes shut, but he seemed to lean into Leonard’s touch, nodded a little, so Leonard put his other hand on Chekov’s other shoulder, trying to keep his attention. 

“If you can, look at me, okay? And breathe, just like me, in,” Leonard took a deep, slow breath, “and out. Okay, let’s try it again,” he said.

He spent long minutes like that, helping Chekov focus on his breathing, and it took a few breaths for Chekov to be able to open his eyes. Leonard stayed right there, trying to keep Chekov grounded with his touch, with his voice, with his breaths, and when Chekov was able to keep breathing without his guidance, Leonard muttered some more assurances. That Chekov was fine, or at least that he would be fine, that this was something pretty common, that it wasn’t anything to worry about or embarrassed by.

And finally Chekov nodded, inhaled deeply and said in a small and shaky voice, “Okay. I am—I think I am okay.”

So Leonard slid an arm around his back, guided him to sit on Leonard’s bed, and Chekov did so obediently, exhausted, with fear clinging to him. Leonard kept his supporting arm in place around Chekov’s waist, partly afraid Chekov would yet collapse. Jim joined them, sitting on Chekov’s other side and looking a little sheepish, maybe embarrassed that he hadn’t known what to do to help. Not that he should have, panic attacks were almost never life threatening, and they weren’t part of the emergency medical field training Starfleet required of its cadets.

When Chekov finally regained enough energy to look up at Leonard, he caught his lower lip between his teeth, his forehead wrinkled and eyes worried as he realized how close they were. “I am so very sorry,” he said, and Leonard scoffed.

“It’s fine,” Leonard said, waving a hand, waving a lot of things away. He’d realized that the situation, Chekov and Jim having been intimate and been sort of caught, might have felt horribly familiar to Chekov, and Leonard thought he could have been less of an asshole, given the circumstances. 

Chekov looked like he wanted to argue that, and Leonard didn’t want him using his strength to fight, so Leonard just kept talking. “Okay, look, I didn’t know it was you in there. I might’ve reacted differently if I had, and anyway, other than a little boundary issue concerning my personal living areas, I don’t have a whole lot to be upset about.”

Chekov shook his head, and Leonard still doesn’t want to argue, so he added, “It’s fine. Not your fault, anyhow,” he said, throwing a harpoon at Jim with his glare.

Jim looked away, and that pissed Leonard right the hell off, because _Jim_ should be apologizing, _Jim_ should be explaining, not leaving it to this kid who’d just experienced something new and scary. 

“But I’m afraid we’ve ruined it, now,” Chekov said, and he swayed a little, so Leonard tightened his grip and was too distracted by that to interrupt Chekov. “Jim says your relationship is open, but that is not—we were going to talk with you, to have a conversation to see how open you are to. Oh,” Chekov closed his eyes, the exhaustion of spending nearly twenty minutes with every muscle in his body clenched catching up with him. 

“That doesn’t sound like a conversation that needs to happen, anyway,” Leonard said, gruff. He wondered whether Chekov would be able to make it back to his own quarters, and he shifted Chekov’s weight over to Jim, who’d been sitting in anxious silence and who eagerly took the responsibility of keeping Chekov upright, seeming grateful for the burden. 

“Jim and I do have an open relationship,” Leonard confirmed, rubbing his palms over his knees, “and he can do whatever he wants.”

“Well,” Jim said, clearing his throat, and Leonard decided Jim deserved a gold star for finally getting his shit together enough to speak up, “it’s a little different, this time. Pavel, um. We were going to try out a real relationship. Date, you know.”

Leonard didn’t, actually, but he put his hands on the bed behind him and leaned back on them, his ankles crossed and knees wide. “So you’re here because you’re...you’re looking for my permission? To court Chekov?”

Jim huffed a laugh, a schoolgirl smile unmistakable on his face. “It sounds stupid when you say it like that.”

“Mmm,” Pavel said, his eyes open and very awake when Leonard met them. It reminded Leonard again that Pavel was so much younger than him, so much younger even than Jim who was so much younger than him. Chekov bounced back from things quickly. The blessings of youth, or maybe a particular sort of confidence. 

“I did not want to start something and later find that it was a violation of your understanding of the rules of your relationship,” Chekov continued.

“No terms to violate,” Leonard shrugged, a muscle in his check twitching.

Chekov nodded, and Leonard’s gut squirmed at the understanding on his face. Jim and he had never actually talked about it, about any of it. They were friends who slept together once, then again and again until it became a regular thing, but now it was something more. For Leonard, it was a lot more, and he knew that Jim loved him, he even sometimes said it, words that Leonard couldn’t dig out of himself to repeat. But they never talked about it, and now it felt like it was too late. They were both afraid to change the status quo, because the status quo was good most of the time.

“Well, I will require terms,” Chekov said boldly.

Bones almost smiled. He couldn’t help being impressed by the balls on this kid. “And what are those?”

“Some sort of commitment. I would not want Jim to sleep with other people.”

Blood pounded suddenly in Leonard’s ears, his breathing slowed and his gaze shifted to Jim, who was still holding onto Chekov. If Chekov was demanding monogamy, and Jim had brought him here to have this conversation, then this was a done deal. This was something Jim was going to do.

Leonard’s voice was a bullwhip, aimed at Jim. “So you brought this kid here, you fucked him on my sofa, and now you’re breaking up with me for him?”

Jim jerked, a full-body flinch that Leonard felt ripples of through Chekov’s shoulder, still pressed into his own. “No!” Jim shouted, and Leonard saw that Chekov was shaking his head, too, violently. “Jesus, Bones, what the fuck?”

Leonard’s forehead creased in frustration, his body loosening a little at the clear rejection of his supposition. “Well, I’m goddamn lost here. Why don’t you stop making me guess at what the hell’s going on and just tell me?”

“Other people,” Chekov said, eyes clear and serious, “does not include you. I am not interested in a casual relationship, and I want to be certain that Jim is serious about me as well. But I would not be here, of course, I would not be anywhere near Jim, if I minded his relationship with you. I would never want to end a relationship.”

“And I wouldn’t—Bones,” Jim said, reaching over Chekov for Leonard, squeezing hard when Leonard obligingly moved a hand within his reach. “I wouldn’t break up with you. That wouldn’t be on the table for me, either, okay?”

Leonard’s mouth felt too dry, his tongue too thick to answer, but he nodded, his eyes locked on Jim’s.

“So it’s all right? Me and Pavel?” Jim asked, after the moment had passed and his grip on Leonard’s hand had loosened a bit.

Leonard wasn’t really sure how he felt about it, about Jim sharing things, non-sexual things like reading side-by-side with their legs tangled together, with someone other than himself. If it had been anyone other than Chekov, he thought maybe he’d have been clearer about whether he could stand it. Was it better because it was Chekov, someone who Leonard liked, who made his blood run hot at times, someone who Leonard had shared some intimate things with, too? Or worse, because Chekov was a crosshatch of want and guilt, of unflinching confidence in his capabilities and whimpering uncertainty on the floor of a prison. 

Leonard didn’t know, might never be able to unsnarl it all, but, he figured, he’d never denied Jim anything he’d wanted. Why start here? Why start with this kid who’d had a lot of things taken from him already, who Leonard could see could be really good for Jim, who Jim might be really good for.

So he nodded, his lips pursed, eyes thoughtful. “Yeah, I suppose that’d be all right.”


	7. Send Us All Ways

“So, let me take you on a date,” Jim said, standing in the corridor outside of Bones’s quarters, smiling a little shyly, eyes twinkling irresistably.

“A date?” Pavel’s shaky relief turned to delight.

“What, you’ve never been on one?” Jim teased. “Actually, come to think of it, I might not have been on this kind of date before, either.”

Pavel swatted Jim on the arm. “I have, actually, been on dates. But not on the Enterprise, and not with her captain.”

Jim nodded and scratched behind his ear with one finger. “Yeah. Being captain is a dream, obviously, and it has some definite perks, but there are some things...you know, some things have to stay private. Not totally private, we’ll fill out all the official forms, tell your friends, that stuff. But we probably can’t make out in the officers’ mess.”

“Yes,” Pavel said, pinching fabric from the sleeve of Jim’s gold shirt between two of his fingers, “but the mess does not have very romantic lighting, anyway.”

Jim laughed and shook his head, fond and happy. “I’ve got something in mind, though. How about tonight?” 

———

What Jim had in mind was the observation deck, the doors locked, windows into the room screened. The lighting was low, and Jim had set up a table, brought in covered dishes. It wasn’t exactly five star, but was basically as close as you could get anywhere on the Enterprise.

Pavel wasn’t surprised at the setting, but he was pleased that Jim would choose what everyone knew was his favorite place on the ship for their first real date. Pavel found space beautiful, but Jim loved the stars more than anyone he’d met, and the observation deck was special for him.

“It occurs to me,” Jim said, settling into a chair opposite Pavel’s, “that we should have done the paperwork before we got here. I’m not looking forward to the conniption Spock is going to throw when he finds out about this whole thing, but especially considering that we’re not waiting for Starfleet’s go-head—”

“The Commander already is aware of ‘this whole thing,’ “ Pavel interrupted. “We discussed it during my last counseling appointment.”

Jim’s eyebrows shot up. “Jesus Christ, he’s known about this for, what, like a week? He didn’t say—” Jim sighed. “Right, of course he didn’t mention anything, confidential whatever, but Jesus. He’s seriously disturbing. How can you know something like that and not let on _at all_?”

Pavel grinned, took a drink from his water glass. “He is truly a master of deception,” he agreed. “He was very helpful, though. Perhaps a little perturbed about the power imbalance,” Pavel said, tilting his head to look at Jim teasingly out of the corner of his eye.

“Yeah, I’m under no illusions about who actually has the power here,” Jim laughed.

“Well, he seemed open to any arrangements that would have to be made to appease the admiralty, anyway,” Pavel said, “and he advised me to talk to you, and to the doctor.”

Jim leaned forward over his plate, elbows resting on the table. “Talk to us, huh?”

“Yes,” Pavel said, leaning forward as well. “And it all seems to be working out, so I wonder if perhaps the commander was in favor all along. An aide-de-camp.”

“Maybe,” Jim said, eyes sparkling. “He must be sort of a secret romantic, right? I mean, Uhura.”

It was comfortable, but there was tension, too, an electromagnet current between them during dinner, and after, when they settled into the lounge’s comfortable arm chairs. They bent their heads together in soft conversation, Jim’s fingers rubbing over Pavel’s when they held hands, sliding beneath the cuff of Pavel’s shirt to rub the soft, thin skin of his wrist.

And when Pavel leaned forward, reaching out to whisper his fingers over Jim’s cheekbone before his lips brushed with that same intense lightness over Jim’s lips, that was comfortable, too, and also electric.

———

Jim went straight to Bones’s quarters when he and Pavel parted ways, the memory of Pavel’s red, swollen lips glowing at the backs of his eyes, overlaying everything he was actually seeing. Jim breezed past Bones, who was sitting on the couch with a PADD on his knee, and went straight to the bedroom to throw himself face down on Bones’s bed. He curled his fingers, denting the duvet, made a low noise of frustration that went straight into the pillow.

“Jesus, Jim, that kid got you all worked up, huh?”

“He’s amazing, Bones,” he said, turning his head in the direction he heard Bones’s voice was coming from, the pillow still covering half of Jim’s face and muffling his words. “I wouldn’t have thought, you know? The first couple of months on the Enterprise, I just wouldn’t have thought that nerdy little Russian genius would end up driving me fucking crazy like this.”

Bones chuckled, a deep rumble, and Jim groaned again. “Would it be weird if we had sex tonight?”

“Sex with you is always weird, Jim,” Bones said, but the mattress dipped under the weight of Bones’s knee, and Jim’s body shifted with every movement Bones made as his crawled slowly over the bed, eventually blanketing Jim with his body.

———

Leonard didn’t know what he’d been expecting when Jim started dating Chekov. He’d guessed it would primarily affect his life via subtraction—he’d see less of Jim, Jim would take meals and spend nights somewhere else, Jim’s mind would be a little absent when they were together, Jim would go to someone else for things he’d gone to Leonard for, at least sometimes. He hadn’t expected he’d be seeing Pavel any more than usual; Pavel was dating Jim, Jim was fucking Leonard, he’d expected it would stay separate.

He hadn’t expected—well, Pavel. Pavel seemed damned determined that Leonard wouldn’t experience any of that subtraction, that Leonard wouldn’t suffer in solitude Pavel’s relationship with Jim. During meal breaks, Leonard found himself being commandingly waved over to a table already peopled with Chekov’s friends and Jim’s admirers (some of these were the same people), Chekov jumping up to squeeze in an extra chair when necessary. He included Leonard in just about everything he and Jim did when Leonard was off-shift, too. Leonard said no, every time, made excuses ranging from outrageous lies to actual truths, but Pavel was resolute, and Leonard had found himself in large groups of laughing, drinking, sometimes dancing, sometimes card-playing people more times in the past two weeks than he probably had in the previous two months. Both Pavel and Jim thrived in those situations, practically luminescent by the time Leonard felt like he could excuse himself without looking like a bad sport.

Leonard absolutely was a bad sport, maintaining a constant stream of grumbling derision, at least in his head. He didn’t want either Pavel or Jim to think he was taking issue with their relationship, he didn’t want anxiety over his moods to impinge on the giddy blush of new love. Leonard didn’t want to subtract from them, either. So he was trying, but he was also exhausted, and another night of socializing as an extreme sport would absolutely break the delicate film of civility he coated himself in.

So when Chekov and Jim came straight to Leonard’s quarters when Alpha shift ended, Leonard was already shaking his head, preparing himself for a battle.

Pavel was grinning when the door closed behind him, reaching out immediately to slip his fingers between Jim’s. “Leonard!” he said, and Leonard was tired, but that genuine pleasure in Chekov’s eyes softened him. “Tonight—”

“No,” he said, shortly, not softened enough for that. “I’m too damn tired to do whatever you’re about to suggest, and no amount of haranguing is going to convince me to join your gaggle of sidekicks tonight.”

Pavel blinked, then tilted his head, his eyelashes long and soft-looking, and Leonard’s stomach tightened. “But you will miss Ensign Park’s cello performance,” he said, beseechingly, and Leonard wondered if Chekov knew he was flirting.

Leonard’s eyebrows lowered, fighting the urge to give in and make Pavel smile, fighting something else. “Huh-uh,” he said. 

“Okay,” Jim said, cutting off whatever Pavel was about to counter with and releasing Chekov’s hand, stepping closer to Leonard and slipping a hand affectionately between Leonard’s arm and waist. “All peopled out, huh?”

Leonard sighed, grateful.

Jim kept his hand where it was, fingertips rubbing tiny circles through Leonard’s uniform shirt, but he turned his head to look at Chekov. “Bones kind of hates crowds,” he said. “I’ve been wondering how you were convincing him to spend so much time out of his cave. Is one of your parents part Rashian?” 

Leonard shuddered at the mention of the species that creeped him out the absolute most. Rashians were powerful telekinetics, so much so than they could completely take over a human, control movement and speech entirely.

Chekov barked a surprised, “Ha!” then shook his head. “I have a gift, I suppose. I am very difficult to say ‘no’ to.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed that myself,” Jim said, and Leonard rolled his eyes at the familiar note of seduction.

“Well,” Pavel said thoughtfully, after a moment of making eyes at Jim. “We will stay in then. There must be a vid we can all agree on?”

Leonard was too surprised to argue with that, although he couldn’t think of any holovids he particularly wanted to see. He let Jim and Pavel hammer it out, nodded agreeably when they settled on something, and caught a speculative look from Pavel when Leonard took up occupancy in the arm chair, leaving the sofa to the lovebirds. Leonard bit back the instinct to look away awkwardly and instead raised his eyebrows in challenge. Chekov smiled at that, and he nestled himself into one end of the couch, leaning on the arm and curling his feet under him.

Jim seemed to have decided at the start of this whole thing to never allow himself to feel uncomfortable about any of it, and he plopped himself down so close to Pavel that a whisper wouldn’t have slid between them. He clearly felt no compunction about casual displays of affection toward either of them, so long as a fourth party wasn’t present, and he slung an arm over Chekov’s shoulders, willfully oblivious to the nervous grimace that danced across Chekov’s face.

It was…inconsistently awkward, at least for Leonard and Pavel. Leonard didn’t miss the way Chekov got lost in the movie and in Jim, playing footsie and talking over explosions, or the way that he’d suddenly stiffen and stare too hard at the screen, too carefully not looking at Leonard until he found an opportunity to include him in their conversation. Leonard felt, the entire time, like he was crashing their date, wished he’d been able to excuse himself from this and get the damn peace he’d actually wanted tonight. But he put in an effort, a tremendous, backbreaking effort, if he said so himself, to hide as much as possible the fact that he was onto Chekov’s nerves.

“No, I think it would be a couple days at least before he was able to move around after that kind of injury,” he answered when Chekov asked, a little stilted and overly loudly, if the protagonist would already have been able to engage in a violent struggle in an EV suit in zero grav.

“Oh, c’mon, Bones, it didn’t look like that hard of a hit to me,” Jim interjected, and Leonard rolled his eyes. 

“Well, Jim, you’re a dumbass who never does know how badly you’re injured until after you’ve already put yourself through the same wringer three times.”

Chekov collapsed into giggles, leaning into Jim and pressing his face into Jim’s neck to stifle his laughter.

“And you’re the dumbass who keeps fixing me up,” Jim said, but he was grinning, couldn’t keep his eyes away from Chekov’s glee.

Leonard nodded, accepting willingly the label of “dumbass.” A smarter man would have run far and fast from someone who was as much work as Jim Kirk. “I’d let you heal the old fashioned way, next time, to teach you a real lesson about what you’re putting your body through. But frankly, I don’t think you’re smart enough to be taught.”

Chekov had stopped laughing, and he was slumped down low on the couch, holding his belly and smiling. “Perhaps there will not be a next time,” he mused. “I do not think many other captains sustain so many injuries as Jim does. The Enterprise is due for a prolonged period of quietude.”

Leonard’s “Oh, Jesus, I hope not,” and Jim’s “Fuck, no,” came at the same time.

Pavel raised his eyebrows, surprised and amused. 

“If you think Jim gets into trouble when the ship is on dangerous missions, you ain’t seen nothing. When he’s bored, that’s when he’ll get himself killed,” Leonard said.

Chekov’s cheeks were still pink with his laughter, and he bit his lip, looking…pleased? Leonard couldn’t understand that, but—well, it had been the first time all night Leonard hadn’t managed to keep track of his running tally of all the ways Pavel and Jim were touching, and he supposed that wasn’t an insight into Jim he’d have shared with just anyone. Leonard knew that Chekov wanted something from him, and Leonard had been frustrated that he couldn’t figure out what it was; maybe this was it. 

Jesus Christ, Leonard thought, tipping his head back onto the chair’s headrest. The kid wanted them to be sister wives.

———

They hadn’t had a lot of time alone, he and Jim. Pavel knew that was his own fault, his own choice, and that he had some very good reasons for sending their relationship zigzagging toward intimacy instead of taking the most direct route. He was worried about the doctor, of course—about Leonard. Pavel was aware that he’d parachuted into Leonard’s personal life with little warning and left plenty of ground flattened, and he wanted to give Leonard time to adjust. He didn’t know how much Jim actually talked to Leonard about Pavel, but he figured that it couldn’t hurt to a wait a little while before adding in sex—well, more sex. 

Pavel didn’t want Leonard to suffer Jim’s absence, to feel isolated or lonely, replaced or left out. Leonard stolidly refused his every invitation, and Pavel appreciated Leonard’s position of polite sufferance, his willingness to provide Jim and Pavel space to grow their own relationship, but that wasn’t really the type of relationship he wanted with either Jim or Leonard. He didn’t want to have space from Leonard to be with Jim. He liked Leonard, found Leonard compelling and funny, interesting and intelligent, compassionate and clearly very, very in love with Jim, and all of these things were extremely attractive, even outside of the fact that Leonard was painfully hot. So Pavel wanted to be around Leonard, and Pavel wanted to be around Jim, and he wanted them to be together, so of course, all three of them together was the ideal. 

But he was also not yet to a place where he would be making out with Jim while Leonard watched, so the physical side of their relationship had gone largely ignored. That was probably good for the development of his relationship with Leonard, but also, it was good for Pavel, just in general. Pavel wanted a certain level of familiarity, a confidence that the relationship was more than fleeting, a certainty that if it sex didn’t go well—and Pavel didn’t even think of Denrovia very often anymore, didn’t get caught in memories of it that he couldn’t stop reliving like Spock had warned him he might, but he couldn’t know what would happen when he was naked and vulnerable with someone again—that he’d have a second chance, that Jim wouldn’t freak out and run, convinced that Pavel was fragile and untouchable.

Pavel hadn’t been ready to have sex with Jim, hadn’t really been ready that first day in Leonard’s quarters. He didn’t regret it, wouldn’t take it back, but he wasn’t ready to sink back into the hazy heat of enveloping lust, and he didn’t believe he could fight it away if it got its grip on him again. He didn’t want to create any regrets, and he couldn’t trust himself not to be swept away by Jim’s hands trailing over his body, the intensity that had pulsed through him with Jim’s tongue rasping over his. It was so hard, a feat of strength and resolve, each time he stepped back from Jim when his body was urging him on, screaming for more. Pavel’s excellent reasons didn’t make it any less maddening, the fizz of blood to his cock each time Jim looked at him that left him at varying degrees of hard for most of the day, every day. 

So Pavel had taken care with their dates, leaving only small crevices of time where they’d be alone, a few minutes at the beginning or ending of a date for them to kiss, Pavel pressing Jim into a wall in his quarters and learning the taste of him, Jim sliding up behind him and kissing his way down Pavel’s neck in the empty corridor outside of Leonard’s rooms. Weeks had passed, nearly a month of Jim and Pavel getting no further than some frantic necking, and in that time, Pavel and Jim had gotten to know each other surprisingly well. 

If a room is full enough and loud enough, proximity creates privacy, and they’d had a great many intimate conversations surrounded on all sides by merrymakers. Pavel had learned a lot about Jim by watching him with Leonard, the things they said to each other when Pavel was there to hear revealing more than a direct questionnaire about their families and pasts, likes and dislikes would have. He learned from Leonard’s facial expressions, ranging from a mild scoff to a deep scowl, when things other people said about Jim were untrue—Jim apparently was not a tequila man, did not have a cousin who’d escaped a penal colony, and had not cheated his way through his first semester at the academy. He learned from Jim, meanwhile, not to even try to touch Leonard when his jaw was set a certain way, and exactly at what degree of softening he would tolerate a fingertip on his wrist, an arm around his waist, a quick nuzzle of his neck.

And now, Pavel felt very comfortable with Jim. He was as sure of the feelings between them, the steadiness of Jim’s affection, as a person could be this early on in any relationship. It had been a month, and now they were in Jim’s quarters, alone.

He’d known they would be. Pavel had become expert at self-examination in the last year, and he’d scrutinized his feelings about this, the possibility that he would sleep with Jim tonight. He’d tried on any number of unhealthy reasons that people have sex with other people, rejected them all. He didn’t feel obligated, or pressured, or like it was time, or like there just wasn’t a reason not to. He felt…excited, nervous, ecstatic. He felt ready. 

Jim was standing across the room, bouncing on the balls of his feet, a grin on his face that wasn’t anything like seductive, wasn’t full of silky promises. It was the smile of a kid about to open his biggest Christmas present. Mostly excited, a little nervous that someone would swoop in and take it away from him.

“Do you want something to drink?” Jim asked, and Pavel shook his head. He bit his lip and stepped toward Jim, then faltered, feeling suddenly awkward and embarrassed. 

“Christ, why am I so nervous?” Jim asked, and Pavel was surprised to hear his own feelings in Jim’s mouth.

“I am, as well. I feel so comfortable with you every other time…” Pavel shrugged. “I think it’s maybe just. Well, we both know what, um.”

Jim closed the space between them, looped his arms around Pavel’s waist. He leaned in to kiss Pavel, soft and lingering, and when he pulled back he held Pavel’s gaze, brows low and eyes serious. “You’re sure?”

Pavel nodded, his lips curved upward. Something in his belly stilled. “Yes. Nothing has to happen tonight, of course, but if it did—yes.”

“Tonight’s good with me,” Jim cut in, words tumbling over each other, and they both laughed, and Jim pulled Pavel in again, smiles pressing together gently, but hotter this time. Jim’s tongue teased open Pavel’s lips, dipping past them to rub against Pavel’s tongue, and Jim tasted like water, like nothing at all, but it was soothing and refreshing and familiar, and Pavel let it carry him away, kisses like a low creek on a hot day.

Pavel gasped against Jim’s mouth when Jim slid one of his legs between both of Pavel’s, pressing upward to create gentle and terrifying pressure against Pavel’s balls. His entire body tensed, a nervous sweat prickling him all over, sensitizing him everywhere and and ratcheting Pavel immediately up to a 10/10, suddenly excruciatingly hard and clenching his teeth to keep from shouting.

Jim chuckled low in the back of his throat, a sound of pleasure and arousal and surprise. “Jesus, fuck, I can’t believe how easy you are,” he pulled back from the kiss enough to mutter. Jim nudged Pavel again with his thigh, and while Pavel was groaning in pleasure, Jim started propelling himself forward, forcing Pavel to stumble backwards unsteadily to keep upright. When Pavel’s back hit a wall, the breath went out of him, and when Jim’s knees bent, bringing his hips even with Pavel’s so that Pavel could feel the thick ridge of Jim’s cock alongside his own, Pavel sagged into Jim’s body, clinging to Jim so tightly that his fingers bit into Jim’s shoulders, leaving the wall and Jim to do all the work of keeping Pavel in place.

Jim’s mouth slipped over Pavel’s cheek, swirling his tongue along Pavel’s jaw, mapping whirlpools of wet heat down Pavel’s neck, and at the same time, Jim was twisting the fabric of Pavel’s shirt in his hands, working it up over Pavel’s stomach and trailing his fingers over the exposed skin so that Pavel couldn’t really think about anything but the sensation, so that he was almost surprised when Jim leaned back and Pavel’s shirt was tugged smoothly over his head. Jim’s smile was pure appreciation for whatever he saw in Pavel’s eyes, in Pavel’s body, and then he grinned more broadly as he crossed his arms over his waist and whipped his own shirt off. Pavel bit his lip at the sight, then couldn’t bite back a moan at the feel of Jim’s bare skin against his own, moaned again when Jim shifted in a way that must have been intentional to brush his pebbled, hair-ringed nipples against Pavel’s, and Pavel thrust his hips helplessly, desperately seeking the friction of Jim’s cock against his own. 

Jim braced one hand on the wall next to Pavel’s head, then kissed Pavel again, firmly and slowly, controlling Pavel’s entire body with the pace of his lips and tongue. The desperate thrusting became a smooth roll, and Pavel’s head cleared enough to appreciate the definition of the muscles in Jim’s back as he ran his hands over them. 

“I fucking love this,” Jim murmured against the skin of Pavel’s neck, and Pavel nodded, ‘hmm’ing in the back of his throat, his hands skating down the sweat-dampened skin of Jim’s back, fingertips slipping just under the waistband of Jim’s pants, and Jim must have taken that as a hint, or a request, because he made enough space between their lower bodies to unfasten both of their pants in less time than Pavel had ever managed his own. Pavel pushed Jim’s pants and shorts down over his ass until they bunched halfway down Jim’s thighs, out of Pavel’s reach.

Jim sped right past that problem with Pavel’s pants, pushing them down and then his own while he folded into a kneel, nuzzling at Pavel’s hipbones, dodging teasingly the jerks of Pavel’s hips that Pavel couldn’t completely suppress, Pavel’s body’s attempt to convince Jim to give Pavel’s cock that attention. Jim managed to unlace and remove Pavel’s shoes, and wrestled Pavel’s pants entirely off, tossing them into a heap a few feet away, all without breaking contact between his mouth and Chekov’s skin, sucking at the fatty tissue high on Chekov’s outer thigh, the hazy boundary between leg and ass.

And when Pavel realized that he was naked, completely naked, nothing but space and time between him and Jim and sweaty, frenetic fucking, he couldn’t help himself from whimpering, from saying Jim’s name in a soft, pleading loop. 

Which was went Jim broke contact completely, sitting back on his heels to look at Pavel, his eyes hot and bright in a way that sent whatever blood was still available rushing to Pavel’s cheeks. Jim licked his lips deliberately, his gaze meandering over Pavel’s body, up, and down. Jim, on his knees in front of Pavel, still in complete command. “You’re gorgeous,” he whispered, finally, shifted his weight forward to his knees, and went straight for Pavel’s cock, flattening his tongue and licking with intent all the way from the base, past the ridge of the head, then over the tip. Pavel had wanted to watch, to see, but it was too much, not rough but a lot of sensation all at once, and his eyes squeezed shut despite him, gasps and strangled moans and “Fuck, bozhe moy, Jim, Jim.”

Then Jim closed his mouth around the tip, sucking gently a couple of times before lowering himself, enveloping Pavel in silken heat. One of Jim’s hands wrapped around one of Pavel’s hipbones, keeping him still, and the other caressed the creased skin over Pavel’s balls, tight and primed, now, and Pavel was tasting blood, fighting for control, for just a few more seconds of this absolute agony. 

Pavel’s cock nudged against something, the back of Jim’s throat, and Jim pulled back fractionally before pushing forward again, swallowing, and Chekov shouted, fisting his hands in Jim’s hair and not pulling and not pushing, but just looking for something to hold onto, something to ground him, while acid shot through his veins, out of his cock. He shook with it for long, torturous, euphoric seconds, and then Jim slid back, slowly slowly, his mouth loose and soft now. When Pavel felt the air cold on his wet and tender cock, he opened his eyes and took a breath that became a gasp when he realized he’d been holding his breath.

Jim stood up, his knees cracking and his smile gratified and rueful and very, very turned on, and Pavel realized that Jim had successfully removed his own shoes and socks and pants and underwear, somewhere in between the kneeling and the swallowing, and Pavel flushed all over, reaching for Jim and pulling him close, hiding his face in Jim’s neck and feeling their naked, sweat-tacky bodies pressed together for the first time. 

Pavel’s breathing evened, and he looked up to meet Jim’s eyes. “Maybe we can try your bed out?” Pavel suggested, and Jim laughed, positively gleeful.

He grabbed Pavel’s hand, tugging him into the bedroom and pushing Pavel onto the bed, crawling over his body to lay heavy on top of Pavel. He found Pavel’s lips with his own, found and began thrusting into the juncture between Pavel’s thigh and hip with his cock, found Pavel’s cock—which had never fully softened and was now filling again—to rub against. Jim snaked an arm between Pavel’s lower back and the mattress, then started to shift them up toward the headboard, and once Pavel caught on, he lifted his shoulders, his ass, his feet and helped Jim to caterpillar them up until Pavel’s head sank into a pillow. 

Jim rutted against him, licking his way down Pavel’s neck and back up to take his mouth in wet, messy kisses. Pavel’s eyes were closed mostly, his instinct to keep out unnecessary stimuli in the face of so much sensation too strong for him to fight, but whenever he did look, Pavel found Jim’s eyes wide open, and he felt devoured by them.

Eventually, after Pavel had no idea how much time, Jim slid back down the bed, dragging his mouth down the center of Pavel’s chest, pausing to dip his tongue into Pavel’s navel, to trail his lower lip over the soft, pale skin inside each hip bone. Jim settled his elbows on the bed with his head between Pavel’s legs, and Pavel could only see Jim’s eyes over his own body, Jim’s brows thick and heavy and eyes dark. Jim tilted his neck to lightly rasp his stubbled cheek over Chekov’s inner thigh, and Pavel swore in Russian, arching uncontrollably into the air. 

Jim leaned down, his breath hot and wet, almost a solid touch on Chekov’s cock, but instead of licking him again, instead of drawing Chekov again into lush cavern of his mouth, Jim’s tongue ghosted, shockingly, under Chekov’s balls, a delicate trail of wetness that slipped down even further, and Chekov saw bursts of light beneath his eyelids. His legs would have snapped closed, but Jim’s hands were both there, fingers splayed wide over Chekov’s thighs, keeping him in place, keeping him spread. And the idea of that, of being entirely at Jim’s mercy, sent an exhilarated shudder through his body.

“Is this okay?” It was a whisper, and Pavel felt more than heard Jim’s words against sensitive, secret skin. 

“Yes, da, da,” Chekov answered, his neck arched, head pushed back into the pillow, and it was an effort to loosen his jaw enough to make coherent sounds.

Jim leaned back in, and Pavel sighed, preparing himself, but then he felt cool air where he’d been feeling the radiant heat from Jim’s body as Jim withdrew again. “Are you sure? I don’t want to do anything—”

Chekov’s eyes flew open and he craned his neck to look into Jim’s face without disrupting his body position. “Jim, for goodness sake! I am completely fucking sure!”

The anxiety on Jim’s face melted into laughter, and this time when he settled back down between Pavel’s legs, there was no hesitation, just Jim’s tongue, the muscle firm but soft when it lapped against Pavel’s asshole. Pavel whimpered, keened, gasped as Jim licked his way inside Pavel’s body. Jim had some kind of sexual sixth sense, his fingers, still holding Pavel’s thighs apart, massaging into the skin there, his tongue performing a gentle gyration, dipping inside as far as it easily could, then slipping out so Jim could suck at Pavel’s, then waiting for Pavel to relax enough for Jim to slip his tongue back past the puckered skin and deeper inside. And the entire time, low noises of reassurance and encouragement and enthusiasm were rumbling in Jim’s chest.

Pavel was impossibly hard, his hands clawing at the sheets, toes curled so that his feet cramped. When he started repeating Jim’s name, Jim-Jim-Jim like a hiccup, Jim dropped one of Pavel’s legs, reached up to curl his fingers around Pavel’s cock, and Pavel was coming, coming, coming, and the room was a vortex.

He opened his eyes to Jim’s body pressed into his side, Jim’s face, Jim’s eyes, Jim’s broad grin. “You,” Pavel said, and his throat felt raw from the tension, or maybe he’d been screaming, “look very pleased with yourself.”

Jim nodded, breathless, the dim light catching his eyes, and he kissed Pavel so that Pavel could taste himself in Jim’s mouth. 

Pavel propped himself up on one elbow, testing his muscles to see if they’d hold him, and when he found himself steady, he slung a leg over Jim’s body, following its momentum until he was astride Jim. Pavel’s cock was soft now, and he took his time looking at Jim without the haze of arousal obscuring his vision. Jim was no less gorgeous, his hair sweat dark and mussed, his body muscled and lithe and artless, lightly furred, scarred, strong in so many ways. 

“Jesus, fuck, Pavel,” Jim said, and Pavel laughed. He hadn’t noticed Jim growing restless under his gaze, but the burst of words and the wince on Jim’s face told him Jim had been trying to hold them back. 

“You are a beautiful man,” Pavel said over Jim’s muttered apology, and he leaned down to press a kiss onto Jim’s mouth. He thought he would have time, later, when Jim had not been already so generous and so patient, to examine Jim’s body, front and back and sides, to learn him everywhere. So now, Pavel scooched himself down Jim’s body and then knelt between Jim’s legs which spread wide for him immediately. 

“You don’t have to—” Jim said, voice thick and rough as Pavel bent down toward his cock, and Pavel nodded. 

“I know, Jim,” he said, the ‘Jim’ muffled when his lips made contact with the skin so hot it could be molten, so soft he should sink into it. So hard, Jim must be in agony. Pavel opened his mouth and let Jim’s cock slip between his lips, a part of him not really believing this was happening, that this must be another fantasy, another dream of being allowed to do this for Jim. But it wasn’t a fantasy or a dream, it was better, and Pavel couldn't swallow Jim down the way Jim had him, so he wrapped a fist around the base of Jim’s cock, holding it firm and sliding his mouth down to meet his hand. His swirled his tongue over the part of Jim he could take into his mouth, and he was unpracticed and unsteady, but eager and enthusiastic, and apparently that was good enough for Jim, who was groaning, who had one hand tangled in Pavel’s curls, whose fingers were clenching and unclenching, an erratic movement that hurt Pavel only a very little, in a way he found very sexy because he didn’t think Jim was in control of it.

It didn’t take long for Jim to come, and when he did it was salty, salty and bitter and actually not very pleasant a taste, but Pavel loved it, the sound of Jim’s hoarse shout, the pulse of Jim’s cock in his mouth and the thrusts Jim was trying to hold back, the feeling of making Jim come. Pavel bit his lip at the spark of arousal in his belly that flared when Jim flinched as his cock slipped out from between Pavel’s lips, and then Pavel crawled up to collapse next to Jim, exhausted and overheated now that adrenaline wasn’t threaded through his bloodstream.

Pavel woke up, several hours later, his mouth dry and his stomach rumbling, with Jim laying half on top of him and Jim’s face smooshed into his shoulder and Jim’s snores whistling in his ear. And when he wriggled his way out from under Jim, who didn’t stir a bit even when he fell heavily into the space Pavel left underneath him, Pavel’s fingers and toes were tingly, and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling.


	8. Leave Your Things Behind

Jim and Pavel had filled out the paperwork, Spock had signed off, the admiralty had approved, and their relationship was now a matter of public record. Until someone went looking for that record, it needn’t have necessarily become common knowledge. But the fact was, everyone onboard knew which door led to the captain’s quarters, and there was no chance of it going unnoticed that Ensign Chekov was going through those doors a whole lot all of a sudden. 

The Enterprise was a large ship, but there wasn’t a ship in the fleet big enough to keep an actual secret on. There were only so many corridors, so many different places to pass time, and the same 400 people were always around, watching and ready to exchange gossip within moments of anything interesting happening. Jim and Bones had managed to keep their entanglement to themselves, but they’d been best friends before anyone had known either of their names, and since Jim had been anything but monogamous for all of those years, it never occurred to people that when they crashed in each other’s rooms, anything more than bickering and sleeping was going on. 

Jim knew there’d be gossip about him and Pavel, but really, the market for gossip about Jim was nearing supersaturation, and he’d never cared about the whispers about his sex life, anyway; shame wasn’t really his thing. Jim wasn’t about to resort to ridiculous hijinks—costumes, army crawling through Jeffrey’s tubes?—to hide his relationship with Pavel, and Pavel wouldn’t have accepted being some kind of dirty little secret, anyway. So while there were some things they couldn’t do while Jim was on the ship he captained, they decided it would be best if they were basically out and proud as soon as the official stuff was completed.

Jim didn’t care what anyone said about him, and Pavel had proven himself nothing if not resilient, so actually, Jim’s biggest worry was Uhura.

She and Pavel had some sort of adoring sibling relationship going on these days, and Jim had always found her scary in a really sexy way, so he wasn’t in any hurry to see her protective quills bristling in his direction. But Spock must have filled her in, or maybe that had been Pavel, because after their first meal in the mess as A Couple, Jim had gotten up to leave and brushed his lips against Pavel’s temple, so fast it was barely over the line of discretion, and the only thing on Uhura’s face was a small smile, a little smug with the pleasure of having been in on the secret. 

It was Sulu, actually, who gave Jim the look he’d been expecting from Uhura. Lowered eyebrows, tensed lips, an expression of warning. Sulu was a model officer; he really cared about doing things the right way and following both spirit and letter of all the regulations, and he’d never said so much as a word out of place to Jim. Now he was overtly glaring at Jim, and the fact that he cared so much about Pavel that he’d give a look like that to his own captain, well. Jim nodded at Sulu with serious eyes, but inside he was grinning. He fucking loved Sulu.

———

“So,” Uhura said, sitting down primly next to Jim and pausing while Scotty took a seat across from them both, “we need details.”

Jim choked on his coffee, his eyes watering as he set it down urgently on the table and wiped at his mouth with his sleeve. It had been weeks since he and Chekov had made their public debut, and Jim had thought things were settling down enough that the thing with Chekov had slipped out of the news cycle. Apparently not.

“I, uh. Details?”

“Aye, Captain. We’ve been patient, but ya haven’t been forthcoming on yer own, yet,” Scotty said, leaning in heavily across the table.

“I don’t think—”

“Not details about your sex life,” Uhura cut in. “We can get those from Pavel. We want to hear how you got together.”

“We’ve heard the lad’s side, but we’re both incredible romantics, sir. We need the complete story,” Scotty added, so earnestly that Jim couldn’t tell if he was joking.

Jim sat back and took a deep breath, then blew it out slowly, cheeks ballooning. A stall. “Um. Okay,” he said, finally. “Well, I took him to the Observation Deck on our first—”

“What the feck are you skipping ahead for?” Scotty demanded, outraged. 

Jim blinked, stretched his jaw. “Where would suggest that I start?” 

“Terrace 2,” Uhura said decisively, and Scotty nodded.

Jim smiled, bemused. “Yeah, that’s a good place. Okay, so, what do you know about Chekov’s aunt and uncle?”

———

Leonard used to hate anyone Jim batted at his eyelashes at. He knew it was unfair and that if he was going to hate anyone, it should’ve been Jim, but it wasn’t something he could change. He’d’ve thought, based on that, that when Jim actually formed a committed relationship with someone else, Leonard would have spent a lot of his time picturing misfortune falling on that other party. Maybe not horrible deaths, but slipping on banana peels in front of crowds, that sort of thing. 

That wasn’t the situation he found himself in, though, not even close. He was jealous, sure, but it wasn’t a violent or malevolent sort of jealousy. Just a mild twinge, here and there, when Pavel looked at Jim a certain way, or when Jim’s hand rested too high up on Pavel’s leg, or when Pavel hummed contentedly against Jim’s shoulder near the end of a night. Leonard wasn’t stupid, so he did realize that most of his jealousy was actually directed at Jim, and he did everything he could to shove that so deep into his gut he didn’t have to acknowledge it often. 

“Hey, Bones, did you move these pieces?” Jim called, and Leonard rolled his eyes. 

“Jim, there are about ten thousand things I can think of that I’d rather do than fiddle with that chess board just to screw with you. And you know damn well that the reason those pieces are where they are is because he’s beatin' the pants off you.” 

Jim squawked in outraged, and Chekov grinned and raised his eyebrows at Jim. “He is not wrong, Jim.”

Leonard turned back to his PADD. “You could have set that board up in your own quarters, you know, and not had a single worry about sabotage. Feel free to move it there any at any time. You two are a damn distraction.” This particular game of 3D chess had been going on for upwards of a week, and it would probably continue for at least one more. Jim and Pavel moved maybe twice per player in a session, freakin’ geniuses that they were.

“Aww, Bones,” Jim said, getting up from the table. He stood behind Leonard’s chair, then leaned over and draped himself over Leonard’s back, scraping teeth over Leonard’s ear. Yeah, Jim was losing all right. “Don’t be like that. Your quarters are so much nicer than mine.”

“Cleaner, Jim,” Leonard grumbled. “And smaller, and if you two keep leaving your shit here, they’re gonna get a whole lot smaller.” Jim’s quarters were actually pretty clean, but they were much more cluttered than Leonard’s, filled with mementos he’d accumulated on their travels, some ceremonial items he’d been gifted, some just shiny junk that had caught Jim’s attention in a souk.

“I can take—”

“Bones,” Jim interrupted whatever Chekov was offering to remove from Leonard’s space, “your room sucked before. We’re doing you a favor, really, making it seem like you have actual interests and experiences.”

Leonard shook his head and grunted. He didn’t actually mind, of course, but he’d die before he admitted that he got a surge of satisfaction when he looked at that in-progress chess game, the Sartakian tambourine that Jim had brought over one morning to wake Bones up with and left, or the pair of socks that Leonard had found in his sofa cushions, balled up and put on a shelf for Pavel to take home that Pavel had been forgetting ever since. 

They spent most of their time together in Leonard’s quarters, even though Jim’s were the biggest on the ship. The difference was that Leonard could beg off or excuse himself early if Jim and Pavel dragged him somewhere else, but if the two of them showed up at Leonard’s quarters, well. They knew his shift schedule, and there weren’t a whole lot of other excuses to kick them out. Not that he would have kicked them out, but he didn’t want to be an obligation, either, and he figured they were dying for time alone. Jim, at least, was damn near boiling with unreleased sexual energy. That kid was 92% semen. But neither Jim nor Pavel treated nor seemed to see him as a third wheel, and they never seemed in any hurry to leave, and Pavel often ended up asleep on Leonard's couch or Leonard’s floor or Leonard’s best friend. 

Pavel got up from the chessboard when it became clear that Jim wasn’t coming back, went instead to the couch and stretched out over it, arms up over his head and dangling over the armrest.

Jim raised his eyebrows. “Tired, Pasha?”

Pavel’s eyes were closed, but he smiled softly. “Mmm.”

“Maybe once in a while, you oughtta get yourself to bed before you can’t walk straight anymore,” Leonard mumbled, and Pavel opened one eye to to look at him, closed it again as soon as he ascertained that Leonard wasn’t serious. He didn’t fall asleep though, not until after dinner, after all three of them had sat on the couch to watch a vid Jim picked out. Chekov was in the middle, and he was practically in Jim’s lap for the beginning, but somehow, when he fell asleep twenty minutes in, Pavel tipped into Leonard, and Leonard had to remember to keep breathing as Pavel’s weight settled into his side, Pavel’s face pressed into his chest.

When the movie ended, Leonard had an arm around Pavel, who was purring snores, and Jim moved to stand, grimacing as he stretched out an ache. 

“Why don’t you both just stay?” Leonard offered, very quietly, his palms itching.

Jim looked at him, his eyes glinting, and Leonard could see his adam’s apple bobbing. “Yeah,” Jim said, visibly smothering some kind of feeling, “okay.”

Leonard and Jim roused Pavel just enough to move him to the bed, and Jim got him stripped to his underclothes while Leonard ordered up a uniform for Pavel to put on in the morning. Leonard stared at himself in the bathroom mirror while he brushed his teeth, trying to decide whether he should dig out his one pair of actual pajamas, what kind of boundaries he’d need to leave in place for this. He compromised by leaving on his black undershirt, one item of clothing more than he usual slept in, and when he climbed into bed, settling in next to Jim, who’d taken the middle for himself, he noticed that Jim had left on his underwear, which was one additional item for him, too.

———

The mission wasn’t supposed to be dangerous. The orders they’d gotten from Starfleet HQ were for a simple trade agreement signing, a contract officials had been working toward for over a year. It was the culmination of a lot of work, and it was mere ceremony, a banquet and a lot of congratulatory handshakes. But the Kandros delegation had shown up angry, and the scheduled backslapping had turned tense; a backhanded compliment had been delivered to the wrong Hrosian, and what was supposed to be low hanging fruit had turned into out and out conflict, the Enterprise dodging actual torpedos and repaying them with lower impact phasers, aiming to discourage rather than damage, still hoping that this trade agreement might be salvageable if no one died. 

Then another, much larger, much more heavily armed Kandrish ship appeared from behind a moon, cloaked in technology the Federation hadn’t known existed. It was an ambush, and they’d find out later that the people of Kandros had been outraged when the terms of the treaty had been publicized. In the face of furious backlash, the Kandrish government had formed this plan, a plan to instigate the Hrosians into physical conflict so that they could back out of the treaty without losing face. If it had worked and the Kandrish had emerged victorious, coming away unscathed while the Hrosians lost men and ships and the Federation took the Hrosians for an unstable race prone to impulsive military action, the Kandrish government indeed would have been applauded by its people.

It would never have happened, though, because no one in the Federation would ever have thought it was a coincidence or a mere security measure that Kandros had a fully armed battleship waiting so nearby. It especially didn’t happen because there was no crew in the Federation better at thinking on its feet than the Jim Kirk’s crew.

So while Uhura pleaded with the Hrosians to stop firing, to stay back, to flee the battle and let the Enterprise take care of the situation, Scotty comm’ed from Engineering to say that it didn’t look like the Kandrish ship had weapons on its belly. Sulu flew the Enterprise directly at the Kandrish ship, then dropped out of impulse abruptly, sending the Enterprise sliding beneath the battleship, narrowly missing actual contact between the two ships. The Enterprise fired everything she had, and they were completely out of range for the warship, a new design that was so much bigger than any ship Kandros had ever made, they didn’t realize that the blindspot in the weaponry would allow entire starships to hide in it.

After it was all over and the Kandrish began limping back to their planet with a half-destroyed and mostly useless shiny new warship, the Hrosians had expressed their gratitude for the help of the Enterprise and a willingness to establish trade with basically any world friendly to the Federation other than Kandros. It wasn’t nothing. Pavel thought maybe the captain would get another commendation for his quick thinking and excellent diplomatic skills.

Pavel was sent to Engineering to help Commander Scott figure out the best way to repair their shields in orbit around Hros, because a journey to a space station without functioning shields was a bad idea for any ship, let alone one with as many enemies as the Enterprise. After a few hours, Chekov and Scotty and Keenser had worked out the details, and Chekov was told to “take yer sorry behind back ta yer room and get some sleep. Yer fingers aren’t doing what yer brain’s tellin’ ‘em to anymore, and I won’t have yeh damagin’ my poor girl any further tonight!”

And Pavel couldn’t argue. He was exhausted, he’d been nearing the end of his shift when things had started to go wrong, and he was very close to falling asleep on a console. His mind was foggy, and he let his body take him to his room

———

Leonard had been in Sickbay when the trouble started, had been listening in on the bridge communications up until the first injured crewman had walked into Medical, clutching her shoulder, dislocated when she was slammed into a wall. After that, casualties had come in waves after each hit the Enterprise had taken, people staggering into Sickbay, some assisted in by uninjured crewmates that went sprinting back to their stations as soon as one of the medical staff could relieve them. Leonard had only been able to get the gist of what was going on on the bridge after that, enough so that he knew when it ended, and that they’d emerged handily enough.

No one had died, and that was all Leonard really cared about, as much of a nuisance as a damaged ship was. There were no life threatening injuries, no emergency surgeries required, but there were enough relatively minor wounds, enough stitching and bone setting to keep Leonard in Sickbay hours later than he should have been. Dr. Kovac had offered to relieve him once the majority of the patients had been cared for, but Leonard had stayed, working side-by-side with his talented, efficient staff until each person who’d walked in under their own power had left. He kept a couple of people with head wounds for observation, but he was confident that Kovac could care for them better than he could with his mind as fatigued as it was. 

Jim had comm’ed for an injury report immediately after the ship stopped being rocked by phaser blasts, and an hour or so after that, Jim had come to Sickbay, just to see for himself that he’d once again managed to keep everyone in his keeping alive. Leonard knew that Jim wouldn’t have any intention of sleeping tonight, that he’d be on the bridge, or in Engineering, or in a damaged cargo bay, overseeing anything that needed overseeing, putting his hands on the shoulders of people who needed to see their captain unshaken and in command. So when Leonard left Sickbay, he knew all he was headed for were his own quarters, his own cold sheets, the sound of his own breathing, his own, uninterrupted thoughts about how many things might have gone differently, gone wrong.

But when he stepped into his bedroom, already tugging his uniform shirt over his head, his eyelids heavy but his mind whirring anxiously, he saw a lump under his coverlet, curls against his pillow shining copper in the half-lighting. Leonard pulled in a startled breath that got stuck in his throat and shut his eyes, shoving back the emotion that poured over him, thick and sticky. Maybe he should have woken Pavel, told him he didn’t expect Jim to be coming here, packed him off to his own room. But Leonard couldn’t do it, couldn’t look this gift horse in the mouth, so he stripped down to his skivvies and didn’t let himself feel guilty for climbing in next to Pavel, as close as he could get, for breathing in the dried-sweat smell of Pavel’s hair, for appreciating how soft Pavel’s skin was and how firm the muscles underneath that were.

And he fell asleep, not to visions of his crew, his friends, dying beneath his hands, their blood pouring through his fingers, but to visions of Pavel’s smooth skin sliding beneath his hands, Pavel’s hair twisted between his fingers.

———

Pavel still barely believed any of it was real. Getting the post on the Enterprise had been euphoric, back when he was 17 and Christopher Pike had signed the commission himself. There’d been a nightmare in the middle, but now he had his dream job and friends that were like family—friends who would lay with him on the floor and talk about relationship squabbles or entangled qubits or Ensign Singh’s new haircut, friends whose eyebrows could tell him their thoughts—and a relationship that left him weightless and breathless. 

He wondered if everyone on the ship could see a change in him, if they knew it was because he was happy, he was in love, he was having _so much amazing sex_. Pavel grinned, hoped the heat that thought generated wasn’t visible in his face. He’d been self-conscious about the sex at first, but Jim made it clear, both through telling and showing, that he didn’t care whether Pavel was practiced or clueless, only whether Pavel liked it, and Pavel had never not liked it.

He was self-conscious now about the love; he worried it was too soon, that Jim might think it was just youth mistaking infatuation for something more serious. Pavel was used to be teased about his age, hadn’t taken actual offense to comments about it in a long time, but it _mattered_ , the way Jim saw him. He couldn’t stand it, thinking that his feelings might be brushed off because he was 19, because he lacked experience, and so Pavel had decided he wouldn’t be the first to say it, even though it was physically painful to swallow back the words sometimes. 

A lot of it was tangled together, because he nearly slipped just about every time he and Jim had sex, which Pavel put down to heightened emotion during and boneless, exhausted satiation after. He’d nearly said it while Jim’s fingers were buried inside his own ass, showing Pavel how much lubricant to use, how he liked to be touched. He’d mouthed it into a pillow the first time he’d been inside Jim, tight hot satin that squeezed Pavel so he couldn’t breathe, left him shaking for long minutes after he came. He clenched his teeth to keep from shouting it when Jim rode him, used his hands to press the words down into his belly lying in the dark next to Jim most nights.

Jim had to know. Leonard had to know. Spock, and Hikaru, Scotty and Nyota, they had to know. Pavel was not skilled in artifice, and he felt like he had “I love Jim Kirk” tattooed on his neck. Probably the crewmen he passed in the corridor, nodded at pleasantly, could all read it there.

When he let himself into Jim’s quarters, that was what he was thinking about. He was so focused on making sure his feelings were in check that he didn’t even hear the noises that might have otherwise served as alarm bells, sent him scurrying back out into the hall. Instead, he walked through the living room, absently noting that it was empty, and inhaled sharply when he saw Jim and Leonard on the bed, naked, grunting, fucking.

Pavel slammed into a wall of cognition that sucked the oxygen out of the room, made each muscle in his body seize up. He couldn’t even blink, his eyes fixed on Leonard, naked and shimmering on all fours and Jim behind him, on his knees, his calloused, strong hands gripping Leonard’s hips.

He watched, just for a few seconds, because there wasn’t anything else he could make himself do, but it was long enough to see the muscles in Jim’s ass flexing, Leonard’s flesh rippling with the force of Jim’s thrusts. Pavel’s cock was instantly, reflexively hard, and when his muscles came unplastered, he made a noise, small and high, aroused and guilty, and he meant to turn, to leave and never tell them he’d been there, but Leonard turned his head, looked over his shoulder and the look in his eyes when they met Pavel’s…it was a smolder. 

Jim looked then, too, but he didn’t stop moving, didn’t miss a beat. Leonard didn’t stop rocking back to meet Jim, either, but he did groan, long and low and fierce, before looking away from Pavel, his head dropping back down between his shoulders. Those shoulders, and Pavel had seen them before, but not like this, not tensed and working, not damp and bunched with strain, not propelling Leonard’s body backward onto Jim’s cock. 

Jim’s eyes fastened on Pavel’s, and Jim breathed, “you could stay,” and Pavel did, just for another few seconds, another ragged breath. Then he shook his head and backed out of the room. He had to stop at the door to the hallway, had to press a hand into the wall and squeeze his eyes shut, trying not to listen, grasping for composure. He went to his own quarters, where his roommate was not, and he curled up on his bed and jerked off furiously and ignored any comms he might have gotten that night.

The next morning, Pavel met Jim and Leonard for breakfast, his nerves dancing in his palms, but Jim smiled at him and said, “I missed you last night,” and Leonard grunted a greeting and shoved a third cup of coffee in Pavel’s direction. It was like any other morning, and Pavel relaxed into the pretense, slipping the memory, lush and vivid as it has been, into a cobwebbed corner of his mind.

———

Science Officer Jensen wasn’t young, not like Pavel or even Jim. She wasn’t a kid, but neither was she old; this wasn’t someone who’d had a full life and left it with no regrets. She was, in fact, just a little older than Leonard himself, and she’d had a husband and no children, and now she was dead. It was a ruptured aneurysm that must have come on and blown suddenly, because Leonard had squinted at her most recent scans until his head ached, and he couldn’t find any sign of it. Leonard had been inside her skull within minutes of her collapse, but it had already been too late. You can’t save everyone, he knew that, but it was hard to accept that this could still happen, not in the 24th century to a Starfleet officer, not with all of the tools at their fingertips. Injuries were one thing, but this…Leonard just couldn’t understand how he hadn’t caught it.

When Leonard walked out of the surgery, Jim was there, his uniform immaculate and his face creased, having been woken in the middle of the night and run to Sickbay to hold brief vigil. Leonard just shook his head, lips pressed together tightly, holding back anger and tears and failure. He briefed Jim, bitten words that scalded coming out, stepped out of reach when Jim lifted a hand to touch him, and then Jim had gone into the room where Leonard had taken his time reassembling Selena Jensen, and where the nurses had already washed away the blood, to say good-bye to his fallen crewman. Leonard was still there, staring at Selena’s scans, when Jim came back out, and Jim licked his lips, and Leonard waved away whatever words Jim was searching for. 

“Kovac came in early,” Leonard said, filling the space. “I wondered if I might pack it in for the day, now.”

Jim nodded, and Leonard leaned back over the scans while Captain Kirk left, an unfamiliar slowness in his steps as he walked out of Sickbay to make notifications to Officer Jensen’s closest friends and coworkers, to her family off-ship, and then to the rest of the crew. 

Leonard stuck around long enough to fill out the paperwork, to sign a few more things the nurses put in front of him. He blinked when he reached his own door, not remembering how he’d made it there from Sickbay, but when the door slid open, Pavel was there in front of him. 

Leonard had known he would be. It had really been the only thing keeping his feet moving, the only thing he’d been thinking about as he’d plodded through the corridors. They’d been working opposing shifts all week, and all week, Jim and Pavel had been sleeping in Leonard’s quarters so that they could share a few ships-passing style minutes together, Leonard stepping inside just as Jim and Pavel finished their breakfast nutrition bars. 

And Leonard hadn’t wanted Jim to touch him, hadn’t wanted condolences or reassurances that he’d done his best—Leonard always did his goddamn best—but he hadn’t wanted to be alone, either. This morning, he didn’t have to hang around Sickbay pretending at paperwork to avoid his empty quarters. This morning, Pavel was waiting for him.

And Pavel stepped forward as soon as the doors slid shut, wrapping Leonard in his arms. Leonard went stiff—stiffer, he’d started out damn tense—and then relaxed incrementally as minutes crawled by. He didn’t know he was crying until he felt a tear slip off of his chin, didn’t realize that his fingers were clutching at Pavel’s t-shirt until he felt himself shaking with sobs.

He pulled away, trying to choke it back, swiping a sleeve over his eyes. “Ah, hell,” he muttered.

But Pavel shook his head, not having any of it. Pavel was decidedly not into burying feelings, and Leonard knew he had some very good reasons for that. So when Pavel shushed Leonard, pulled Leonard into bed and wrapped himself around Leonard, Leonard let him. He didn’t fight, he didn’t even grumble. He lay still, let Pavel comfort both of them.

“She was a very good officer,” Pavel said, his voice muffled by Leonard’s shirt. “I worked with her closely on the Fahalian Nebula. She was very smart, and very patient and kind. I am sorry you could not save her.”

Leonard didn’t say anything, but he did incline his body more toward Pavel, buried his face in Pavel’s curls. He let his fingers slide under the hem of Pavel’s shirt, lightly stroking there, more like a tensing and relaxing of his hands than a purposeful touching. He let his body relax, let the tears slip out of the corners of his eyes to soak the hair at his temples, let his eyes shut and his breathing even out.

———

When Jim walked through the door to Bones’s bedroom hours later, he found them like that, Bones and Pavel, tangled together. And Jim exhaled heavily, feeling through his own pained exhaustion a relief that made his shoulders sag. A ship’s captain would never be at home to provide solace in the immediate aftermath of the worst things. He’d never been there, would never be there, when Bones came home after losing a patient. But this time, Bones hadn’t had to bear it alone, and Jim was so damn grateful.

He stripped and spooned up behind Bones, who didn’t shift at all. Pavel opened his eyes though, and he reached across Bones to slide his fingers over Jim’s cheekbone, his eyes tired and filled with concern.

“It’s all right,” Jim whispered, and Pavel’s eyes drifted closed as he slipped immediately back into sleep.

Jim lay awake for a few more minutes, listening as the breathing of his two favorite people formed a single rhythm, and then Jim slept, too, deeply and well, for the hour he had left before he needed to be captain again.

———

Pavel had turned nineteen just over a month after the mission on Denrovia. He hadn’t wanted to celebrate, hadn’t wanted the attention, but Hikaru had gotten him a cake anyway. Hikaru had lit the candles in Pavel’s quarters after a forgettable dinner in the mess, sang a very terrible version of “I Play the Accordion,” and Pavel had laughed until his eyes teared at Hikaru’s attempt at Russian, then broke down sobbing after. Hikaru said later that he’d memorized the Russian first, read the translation later, and known he should have learned the Russian translation of the English birthday song instead; it had just seemed too late at that point.

A year later, Hikaru still felt guilty about it, and he insisted on organizing something large and festive to celebrate Pavel’s 20th in style. He must have invited everyone on the ship, because even with half of the crew either on duty or asleep, the officers’ lounge had been transformed into a packed nightclub, loud music and people shouting over it. It wasn’t exactly what Pavel would have chosen, but it turned out to be exactly what he wanted, the energy of this room jammed with bodies. 

Leonard was the third person to walk through the doors after Hikaru and Pavel, and Pavel grinned at him, put a hand on his arm as soon as Leonard was close enough to touch. “You’re so early!” Pavel said.

Leonard glanced at the giant clock on the wall, said, “You said 2100.”

“Yeah,” Hikaru said, “but no one’s going to be here for half an hour, at least. Being on time is for geeks.”

Leonard rolled his eyes, grumbled “It’s a ship full of geeks. Military geeks, even.”

“Ahh, but most of us are military geeks who understand situational variances in social norms,” Pavel said, squeezing Leonard’s arm. 

They got drinks, and people started trickling in, each of whom Pavel greeted with characteristic over-the-top enthusiasm.

Jim came later, when the room was already full. He drank cranberry juice and stood close to Pavel, one hand spread out warm over Pavel’s lower back, and spoke into his ear some things about birthday suits that made Pavel’s pulse quicken. 

Pavel mingled and drank, promised Jim things with his eyes and drank, told Lt. Blair how to fix her plan for improving the thrusters on the shuttlecraft and drank, spun Nyota around the dance floor and drank. He wasn’t scheduled to work the next day, and Leonard had promised to gift him with a special birthday hangover cure in the morning, and Pavel drank more than he really ever did. By the time he blew out his candles, he was drunk and glowing from all the attention, the well wishes, the off-key chorus of ‘Happy Birthday to You,” and his face hurt from smiling.

Jim had to leave soon after that, a flood in the hydroponics bay that had Lieutenant Commander Masih swearing over the comm channel. Jim grimaced, sighed “I’m sorry.”

“Ahh, the drawbacks of being a captain’s wife,” Pavel said, mock-despondent.

Jim leaned in, kissed Pavel chastely on the lips and whispered, “Happy birthday.” 

Pavel smiled, said, “I will see you when you have finished mopping,” and winked.

Jim smiled, shaking his a head a little, no doubt marveling at his good luck, and said, “Yeah, my quarters?” Pavel nodded, and Jim said, “Make sure he gets there, okay?” to Leonard, and Pavel rolled his eyes, and Jim left.

Leonard stayed close to him the rest of the night, and Pavel thought it was silly, because he was definitely drunker than was smart, but it wasn’t like anything bad could happen to him on the Enterprise. He didn’t mind Leonard being close, though, didn’t mind his charmingly sarcastic comments, or the feeling of Leonard’s eyes on him or that Leonard was there to lean against when Pavel started to get tired. 

The crowd had thinned and Pavel was leaning against Leonard who was leaning against a wall, and Scotty was talking to Lieutenant Mendez about Mendez’s proposal for the engines, which was stupid, so Pavel opened his mouth, said, “But then the dilithium crystals wouldn’t be used half as efficiently. It’s so—” idiotic, he was going to say, except Leonard said, “This is boring as shit,” before Pavel could finish, shoving Pavel forward, steering him away from the conversation with a strong arm around Pavel’s waist.

The sudden movement made the room spin, and Leonard, said, “I shouldn’t have mentioned the hangover hypo. If I’d’ve kept it to myself, it would have been a nice surprise instead of an incentive.”

Pavel giggled, said, “Mmm, I thought you coordinated it with Jim. He gave me all the vodka, you gave me the chance to drink so much of it.” 

Jim had given Pavel his birthday present that morning, four liters of Zarian potato vodka, shipped straight from Tetka Olesya and Dyadya Vasily to the Enterprise, a journey that must have cost Jim at least a few of the favors he was owed. 

Pavel’s attention wandered when saw Hikaru across the room, and he forgot how unsteady he’d felt just moments earlier. He pulled away from Leonard, tripped over someone’s feet, maybe his own. He couldn’t get his hands to move fast enough to break his fall, but it didn’t matter anyway because someone caught him. He mumbled, “der’mo,” and looked up to find Ensign Rorbach, who was in Security and who was a very large person. Pavel hadn’t really considered just how large until he was literally in Rorbach’s arms, Pavel’s feet about a foot off the ground and Rorbach’s giant hands around his ribcage.

He wasn’t too drunk to wonder why Rorbach hadn’t put him down yet, and apparently Leonard wasn’t either, because when he said, “I’ll take that, now,” and put his hands on Pavel’s hips, tugging, Leonard didn’t sound especially friendly.

When Pavel was back on the ground, Leonard put his arm around Pavel’s waist again, his grip much tighter, now. “All righty, I’d say it’s time for the birthday boy to hit the sack,” he told the room, and Pavel heard a smattering of laughing cheers and twisted as much as he could to wave a grinning good-bye.

———

In Jim’s quarters, Leonard made Pavel drink a glass of water, and then another, because Dr. McCoy didn’t play around about dehydration. Pavel was talking in between swallows, just saying whatever came into his head, some things about Spock knowing how to tango and Hikaru fencing like ballet.

When he stopped to breathe, Pavel noticed that Leonard was looking at him, assessing him. Pavel wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he felt light and stupid enough that it may have been ‘will not remember this tomorrow.’ Pavel had never actually blacked out from drinking, always remembered everything, and actually had never wished he could forget any of the things he’d done. Pavel thought he was an excellent and hilarious drunk.

Whatever Leonard was hoping to find, it must have been there, because he said, “I got you a gift,” and turned to pull something out of one of Jim’s kitchen drawers. 

“I am not hungover yet, Leonard,” Pavel laughed.

“Something else,” Leonard said, and when Pavel opened his mouth in horror, added, “in addition to that.”

“Oh,” Pavel said, pleased, and Leonard handed him a small box, black and square with a blue ribbon tied neatly around it.

Inside the box was a gold compass, small enough to have fit inside the insignia on his uniform. Pavel held it in his palm, stroked a finger lightly over its face, watched the way its needle quivered, pointing toward nothing at all.

Leonard stuffed both hands in his pockets, didn’t quite meet Pavel’s eyes and said, “It won’t do you much good most of the time, but I know you can find your way through the stars all on your own. I figure if you have one of these, if you can make it to Earth, you’ll always be able to find your way home.”

Pavel felt warmth spread over him like taking a shot of good whiskey. He looked from Leonard to the compass, and Leonard chewed on his thumbnail, and when Pavel started to say something, Leonard cut him off with sharp orders to finish his water and go brush his damn teeth.


	9. Shake Some Sense

It was late when Pavel excused himself from the officer’s lounge, kissed both Hikaru and Nyota on their cheeks, and made them promise not to have too much fun without him. He had to be on the bridge early the next day, but he wasn’t exactly tired, so he detoured to Deck 7 to check on the Bendarian Firefleas that Officer Strek was breeding. It had been very exciting already, as there had been some difficulty finding a material to make a tank for them that they couldn’t melt. Pavel’s mind was focused on the firefleas as he walked through the deserted corridor, so when a door slid open just a few feet in front of him, and a person stepped out directly into his path, Pavel shouted, “Blin!” and jumped back, holding one hand out in front of him with his fingers splayed. He knew before he’d even bitten down on the “n” that he was an idiot, his brain rapidly informing him that there were only friends on this vessel, and further, that this particular friend was Leonard McCoy.

Pavel dropped his arm, squeezed his eyes closed in embarrassment that eased up pretty immediately when he heard the deep laughter rolling out of Leonard. Pavel opened his eyes, saw Leonard holding his stomach with one arm, his eyes shiny in his mirth. 

“Well, hell, kid,” Leonard choked out, “I’m not sure whether to feel complimented that I’m such an imposing figure or insulted that you think I look like a giant, walking pancake.”

Pavel shouted a laugh, shaking his head. “It’s an expression! Just as when you say “shit” you are not seeing actual excrement.”

Leonard reached out, squeezed Pavel’s bicep, his smile turning from glee into something softer. “You’re a marvel, Pasha,” he said, and he winked as he let go of Pavel and moved past him, continuing to wherever he’d been heading.

Pavel felt pleasure bubbling in his stomach at the easy affection Leonard had shown him, the diminuitive that Jim used occasionally, one that he’d never heard before from Leonard’s lips. He bounced on his toes the rest of the way to the bio lab, and when he realized, halfway through reading Strek’s updates on the Fireflea experiment, that he hadn’t known Leonard knew any Russian at all, Pavel actually whooped into the empty lab.

———

After that, everything became a little more difficult. Pavel’s stomach tensed every time Leonard was in a room with him, waiting for Leonard to touch him, to look at him with anything more than friendship, for an endearment to slip out from between Leonard’s lips. Pavel could feel his entire body straining as he waited for hints of more than familiarity, for brushes of fondness that lit Pavel from the inside.

He found them, now that he was looking. Leonard shared space with him easily, didn’t move to avoid brushing against Pavel when they crossed paths, didn’t flinch when their arms or thighs touched when they sat side-by-side. And he did touch Pavel, more than he touched anyone other than Jim. A pat on the shoulder, two fingers on Pavel’s lower back when they walked together, steering Pavel gently. And there were moments Pavel noticed, now that he was straining his eyes for them, when Leonard started to reach out for him and then stifled the movement, passing it off as something else. 

Leonard often looked at Pavel with affection, listened to Pavel’s stories more attentively than he seemed to listen to other people, smiled more often at Pavel’s stupid jokes than Pavel would have expected. There were even moments when Leonard’s eyes traveled Pavel’s body with heat, when Pavel moved a certain way or stripped his shirt off on the way to the shower, when flashes of fire widened Leonard’s pupils, that same fire he’d seen the day he’d walked in on Jim and Leonard, the day they’d never talked about.

Pavel knew Leonard must have had a reason for looking away quickly whenever Pavel caught his gaze in Leonard’s softer moments, a reason why Leonard only looked at Pavel with dark eyes when he thought he wouldn’t be seen. Pavel hated hiding his feelings, was doing as much of that as he could stand with Jim, and this current of tension sizzling down his spine almost constantly was unbearable for him. It had been why he’d stopped that turbolift he’d shared with Jim, and that had worked out very well so far. Pavel knew that it wasn’t the same situation, that Leonard and Jim were extraordinarily different people, and that it was not at all comparable. But Pavel had to hope that Leonard would at least be open to letting Pavel love him, because Pavel was pretty sure he was already in love with Leonard, regardless.

So he made lists and weighed options, calculated the best way to approach Leonard about his feelings. He wondered whether Jim should be there, whether Jim might be able to soothe Leonard if Leonard became upset, but Pavel had seen the two of them fight, lightning storms in summer that flashed bright and furious and subsided as suddenly as they started. He wondered whether he should discuss it with Spock, or if maybe Leonard would be upset if he did, other people knowing his own business before he was made aware of it. 

Ultimately, none of the pros and cons or methodologies mattered, because Pavel’s body acted impulsively, moved by his heart and not his brain.

He was in Jim’s quarters, a day off work that Pavel had spent mostly laying on Jim’s couch, stuffing himself with junk and alternately reading a trashy romance in Russian and watching episodes of his father’s favorite Russian crime drama. He was feeling not a little homesick, and he was indulging in that rather than letting his mind cycle back through the same thoughts about Leonard he’d been having for weeks. He was deep into the novel, a scene where the heroine had dropped out of the sky from a cloaked shuttle, phasers on kill as she blazed through the complex where her lover was being held. When the door opened, he dropped his PADD, exhaled and flushed when he realized he’d actually been holding his breath, flushed deeper when he realized he was more or less coated in salt and tiny yellow specks of potato chip.

Leonard eyed him, smirking, his eyebrows askew.

“Em,” Pavel said, clearing his throat and sitting up, wiping ineffectively at his shirt. “It must be 1600 already?”

“I suppose it’s good to know you weren’t counting the minutes until your lonesome pining could end,” Leonard said wryly, and there was something, something about the fondness in his eyes or how soft and pink his lips were when they shaped the words, or maybe his actual words, pining being exactly what Pavel had been spending his time doing. And Pavel didn’t think at all, he was on his feet, crowding close to Leonard and sliding a hand up Leonard’s arm until Pavel’s fingers could brush circles over the short, soft hairs at the base of Leonard’s neck. He pulled Leonard’s head down, lifted himself onto his toes, and pressed his lips against Leonard’s. Leonard didn’t move, didn’t respond at all until Pavel’s mouth opened, his tongue sweeping ever so lightly over the seam of Leonard’s lips.

Then, suddenly, Pavel couldn’t catch enough air, the world shifting hotly while Leonard came alive around him. Leonard’s arms circled Pavel roughly and pulled him tight against Leonard’s body, straightening and actually _lifting_ Pavel off the floor, toes brushing the carpet, the room spinning around him directionlessly until Pavel’s back hit the wall. Leonard’s mouth remained sealed over Pavel’s, his tongue rolling inside Pavel’s mouth with absolute ownership, and when he released his grip on Pavel, let him slide down slowly until his feet flattened against the floor, Leonard followed him, bending himself and not loosening his grip a bit.

Pavel’s mind wasn’t in top form to begin with, but the lack of oxygen coupled with this savage wish fulfillment left him light headed and so hard he couldn’t form a single coherent thought beyond, ‘yes, yes, yes.’ So when Leonard did pull away, Pavel surged back toward him on instinct, but Leonard’s hands were on his biceps, holding him against the wall even as Leonard stepped back, back, until Leonard’s arms were fully extended, leaving feet between bodies that might as well have been fused moments before.

Pavel blinked, breathing in gasps, licking his lips, shaking his head. Nothing made sense, because Leonard was _there_ with him, Leonard had been the tornado that left Pavel reeling an entire town over from where he’d started out, but Leonard looked angry, his face hard and contemptuous. Long, painful, confusing seconds passed in silence, but when Pavel opened his mouth to say, “What?” Leonard was speaking over him, spitting words like weapons. 

“What the fuck are you thinking, kid?” 

It wasn’t affectionate, no sweet in this bitter, it was cold and belittling, like Pavel had offended him with his presumption, and Leonard exhaled harshly through his nose and walked away, disappeared into the bedroom, leaving Pavel in pieces against the wall.

Pavel felt the tears burning behind his eyes, and he couldn’t surrender to them here, so he emptied his mind, refused to think about how wrong he’d been, how he must have been seeing every interaction with Leonard through a lens of his own desperate desires. He didn’t think about how this was exactly what he hadn’t wanted at the start of it all, or how wonderful things had seemed just yesterday, how he might have argued himself into sticking it out with Jim if this had been any less devastating. He didn’t think about how excruciating it was that he’d thought he was so close when really, there’d never been any chance at all.

He swallowed it all back, forced a star chart from the Delta Quadrant into the fore of his mind, and walked, only a little unsteadily, out of Jim’s quarters.

———

Jim was smiling his official Captain Kirk smile, nodding at each crewman he walked by, greeting the ones who made eye contact, and he had nearly reached his own rooms when he realized that one of the crewmen he was about to pass was Pavel. Pavel didn’t see him, seemed lost in his own thoughts and frankly a little pale, but Jim reached out to grab him by the elbow, spun Pavel around so he was facing the same direction as Jim.

“Captain,” Pavel said, sounding stunned, and Jim wondered if Pavel was maybe tired. He’d had the whole day off, but Jim didn’t actually know what he’d planned to do with it, so it was possible. “I can’t, I have—”

“Just for a second, c’mon,” Jim said, wheedling. He really just wanted to kiss Pavel hello, hello and good-bye if Pavel really had somewhere to be, so Jim ignored Pavel’s weak protest and tugged him inside Jim’s living room. He barely waited for the doors to close before pulling Pavel close, pressing his mouth to Pavel’s.

“Christ that was a long day,” Jim said when he pulled back, running his thumb over his own lower lip. “Spock was all over me, I swear to God he has got to loosen up, and nothing ever feels right when some other ensign’s ass is in your chair.” He looked around the room, turned his head and shouted “Bones!” then took a step toward the bedroom, holding onto Pavel’s wrist and dragging him along. 

Bones stepped into the living room, his face a mask of casual grouchiness, and Jim grinned, missing Bones’s quickly smothered surprise when his glance flickered over Pavel. Jim also missed Pavel blushing and shrugging behind Jim’s back when Jim finally released his hold on Pavel to step into Bones.

Jim pressed his whole body against Bones’s and kissed him thoroughly, and when Jim did pull away, it was with smirking promises because Bones was already hard. Bones’s lips curled into a twist that was annoyed, embarrassed, and affectionate, all at the same time.

“Absolutely nothing happened,” Jim said, addressing both of them, which was awkward because they were standing so far apart. “It was so goddamn boring. At least we only have two days left here. And then!” Jim grinned broadly, spreading his hands and tipping his head back, “Less than two weeks’ travel to Hal for a little bit of diplomacy, a lot of R&R and maybe, God willing, a little excitement.”

“I’d think the captain would be a little more grateful when things proceed according to plan. ‘Excitement’ on this bird usually means full beds in Sickbay and vital ship components floating around in the black,” Leonard grumbled.

Pavel shifted his weight, silently chewing on his lips, but Jim turned to him, with eyes sparkling, and Pavel returned his smile helplessly.

“Where were you going, anyway? I thought we’d have dinner here—Chapel gave Bones a holo he’s been hiding from us. It must have some explosions.”

Chekov shifted, shaking his head, searching for an excuse that wasn’t a lie. “I’d like to find Hikaru for dinner. I haven’t been as available lately. Maybe he is feeling neglected?”

It was weak, but Jim took it at face value. “Well, I won’t argue with that. I like my pilot’s morale pretty high. You’ll come back and sleep here?”

Jim’s eyebrows were ‘pretty please’ high, and Chekov dropped his chin, a half-hearted nod that belied his, “We will see, and I will let you know.” 

He would not, obviously, and he thought regretfully about the bed he would climb into instead, small and lonely and cold, not smelling anything like Jim or Leonard or the sex they usually had when he spent an evening without them.

———

Pavel knew when he walked out the door of Jim’s quarters that day that it was over, the entire experiment into a romantic troika. He went to dinner with Hikaru, just like he’d said he would, pushed his food around and lost track of everything Hikaru said for the five minutes it took for Hikaru to dump their trays and take Pavel to Hikaru’s quarters, taking advantage of the privacy that a roommate on Gamma shift was lending Hikaru this week.

It poured out of Pavel, how he had fucked it up and how he still didn’t know exactly how he’d gotten it so wrong. And he knew that Hikaru had never really thought it would work out, and he said that too, sobbing. Hikaru didn’t deny it, just held Pavel, rubbed his back, and said he just naturally wasn’t all that optimistic about romance, let alone one so complicated, and that he’d hoped he’d be wrong, he’d just wanted Pavel to be happy. 

“And you are happy, right? I mean, not now, but with Jim?”

Pavel shook his head, but said, voice shaky and weak, “Yes, everything has gone right with Jim. But I can’t, I can’t be—I just can’t.” 

Hikaru nodded, his brown eyes full of Pavel’s pain, and he listened some more, held Pavel tighter, tried not to hate Dr. McCoy, then decided to go ahead and hate him, but just for tonight.

Pavel woke up in Hikaru’s bed, wrapped in Hikaru’s blankets with Hikaru shivering in his sleep, curled around Pavel. Before he rushed off to his own quarters to shower and dress and try to choke down something nutritious before Alpha started, Hikaru grabbed Pavel’s hand and pulled him into another hug, whispered, “You deserve to be happy. I know you’ll get there.”

Pavel nodded, and he felt very much the youngest person on the ship, all the way to his room. 

He tried to act normal on the bridge, but he could tell he looked like shit from the way Nyota brushed her knuckles over his cheekbone, the way Jim spent more time than usual bent over Pavel’s console. He didn’t have the energy, after the shift ended, to argue with Jim when Jim led Pavel back to Jim’s quarters, ordered him up a giant dinner and watched carefully while Pavel ate every bite. 

“Did something happen?” Jim asked, when Pavel pushed away from the table, his eyes only half open. 

Pavel shook his head, feeling even worse for the lie, and said, “I didn’t sleep well.”

“You should have—”

“I know,” Pavel said.

“Well next time,” Jim said, pulling Pavel to a stand, kissing him softly and walking him into Jim’s bedroom, removing articles of Pavel’s clothing as they progressed so that by the time Jim urged Pavel onto the bed, he was in his underwear. Pavel knew he had to tell Jim it was over, but when Jim settled into the bed beside him, pulling the covers up over them both and nuzzling Pavel’s neck, humming quietly, Pavel thought maybe it was okay if he didn’t tell him tonight.

He didn’t tell Jim the next day either, deciding that, just as he’d allowed himself a kiss with Jim back when he thought Jim was unavailable to him, he’d give himself this gift, one more night in Jim’s bed, listening to Jim’s breathing. Every second they spent together was also accompanied by a stabbing pain in Pavel’s chest, guilt and the knowledge of an entire future without this, but Pavel thought it was worth it. Pavel wasn’t surprised that Leonard—Dr. McCoy, he’d have to go back to Dr. McCoy now—couldn’t join them for dinner and decided to sleep in his own room, something Jim shrugged at but didn’t question. 

That night, their last night, Pavel wanted closeness and skin and the taste of Jim, but when Jim pressed him into the mattress, kissing Pavel in that way that had grown familiar but remained thrilling, Pavel realized that tears were seeping from his closed eyes, and he wiped them away before breaking the kiss, feigning a yawn and mumbling an apology.

Jim kissed him once more, sweetly, then rolled off of him, pulling him close so Pavel’s head rested on Jim’s chest, one of Pavel’s legs crossed over both of Jim’s. 

Pavel didn’t sleep, and when the alarm went off in the morning, a knot of dread was taking up most of his stomach. 

He showered, waited for Jim to dress, then exhaled the largest breath of his life. 

“I need to talk to you,” Pavel said, and there was something wrong with his voice, because Jim’s expression went immediately, totally blank.

Pavel swallowed, looked at the floor. “This isn’t working,” he said.

“This,” Jim repeated, a question with no inflection.

“Us. Our relationship,” Pavel said, glanced quickly at Jim and then away.

Jim huffed, a noise of disbelief. “I need a little more to go on, here,” he said, an argument in his tone.

Pavel hadn’t expected it to be easy, so he braced himself, looked directly at Jim and held his stare. “I’m not happy. The situation is…untenable.”

Jim shook his head, made that skeptical huff again and looked away from Pavel. “Untenable,” he muttered, like he wasn’t exactly sure what the word meant. “If you can tell me exactly—”

“I can’t,” Pavel interrupted, keeping his voice carefully even, “but it is not working out. It’s not anything you’ve done, and it is not anything you can change.”

Jim inhaled deeply, opened his mouth, then closed it. “I don’t understand,” he said, finally, reached out to touch Pavel, dropped his arm to his side. “It’s been good.”

Pavel fought down a wave regret, an entire ocean of feeling begging him to turn back, to let himself be convinced. He couldn’t explain it to Jim, he didn’t want to risk setting anything in motion that would ruin Jim’s relationship with Leonard. Despite what Pavel had come to recognize as Leonard’s unnecessarily harsh reaction to Pavel’s advances, they were both good people, wonderful people, who deserved to be together and to be happy. The way they were before Pavel’s problems became theirs, before Pavel became theirs. “It has been good. You have been very good, Jim. I wouldn’t take back any minute of it. But it is,” Pavel’s voice broke, and he inhaled sharply before he could finish, “over.”

Jim blinked, shook his head, stared at Pavel. Then he nodded, swallowing hard, and said, very quietly, “Okay.”

Pavel’s fingers itched to touch Jim, to fix whatever the confusion was settling into, and he clenched his hands into fists. “Don’t be sad,” Pavel said, a smudge of a smile on his face. “I’m not dying; you will see me all the time.”

“Right,” Jim said, his voice thick. “Well,” he shrugged, “I’ll, uh. I’ll see you on the bridge, then.”

And Pavel bit the inside of his cheek, dipped his head and said, “Aye, captain.” And then he left. 

———

Sulu hadn’t entirely approved of Chekov’s relationship with the captain, at first. He’d known Pavel was gay, knew he found Captain Kirk super hot, but there was a pretty big step between ‘Oh my God, his ass in those pants’ and ‘I want to commit myself to this man indefinitely.’ So Sulu thought, when it all started happening, that it was some sort of unhealthy coping mechanism. 

Then, when he realized that Pavel was actually coping just fine and that he was really really infatuated with the captain, Sulu decided Pavel deserved better. Not that the captain wasn’t great. He was, there was no better captain, and Sulu admired and respected him, would defend him to anyone who denigrated him in Sulu’s presence, would, well, die for him. And Captain Kirk had been amazing to Pavel after the thing on Denrovia, really kind and attentive (which actually was how they’d gotten to the ‘indefinite commitment’ in the first place, but anyway), but the fact was, he was already in a relationship. A relationship with Dr. McCoy, who Jim apparently stepped out on regularly, and the entire McCoy thing seemed like a landmine for Pavel to hop right onto, but it could have been a relationship with anyone, and Sulu wouldn’t have been happy about it. Because Pavel deserved to be the most important person in somebody’s life, and he didn’t see how that could happen with Jim. 

But Pavel had been so damn happy. And when Sulu had seen them together, he could see why. Captain Kirk had always been charming, friendly and gregarious and easy to get comfortable with. And he was gorgeous, which didn’t hurt, no matter how much of a straight guy you were. But when he was around Pavel, now, Jim was just different. He didn’t say as much, wasn’t as quick to join an argument. He seemed, well. Content? Settled. And distracted; Jim couldn’t seem to force himself to pay attention to anyone else for too long when Pavel was there. Sulu couldn’t count how many times he’d looked over at the captain when they were at a table together and found him looking, not at whoever was actually talking, but at Pavel. Just Pavel, listening, or Pavel, laughing, or Pavel, chewing. And the captain’s face was always—rapt. Enamored. Like there wasn’t anything else he’d rather be looking at. Like Pavel was the most important person in his life.

And somehow, in all of that rosy glow of new love or whatever, Jim didn’t act any different when Dr. McCoy was around. He managed to spend what seemed like the exact same number of minutes smirking at McCoy, needling McCoy, gazing fondly at McCoy as he always had, even though so much of his time now was spent adoring Pavel. And that was really when Sulu’s mind started to change about the whole thing. When he noticed that Jim seemed exactly as taken with Dr. McCoy as he ever had been, that he hadn’t wavered or been distracted from him. Sulu thought maybe Jim was actually the rare person who could have two most important people in his life.

It didn’t hurt that he caught Dr. McCoy looking at Pavel out of the corner of his eye more than once, or that Dr. McCoy suddenly could’t help himself from dropping information he’d acquired about Pavel into conversation—just small things, oh, Chekov loves Grizkian Trance Music, oh, Chekov’s great at roller skating, but it all added up to something. And hell, if anyone deserved to be the most important person in two people’s lives, it was Pavel. It still seemed incredibly complicated, and Sulu hadn’t been exactly lucky in love, so he didn’t have an innate faith in this sort of thing, so he hoped, but it was tempered.

Which meant he was sad, so sad, so hurt for Pavel that it might as well have been him whose wonderful relationship was crumbling, but he was not exactly shocked. He knew McCoy had feelings for Pavel, because he’d seen them, but he also didn’t want to say that. He didn’t want Pavel to think Sulu didn’t trust his instincts and decisions, didn’t want to give Pavel bad advice, raise hopes to have them go supernova, and he also didn’t have any idea about what all was going on in this relationship beneath the surface—he had no way into McCoy’s head, after all. 

So he kept his mouth shut, didn’t advise, just listened. He made sure he was around to discuss or distract as needed, and he didn’t mind or mention it when he and Pavel wound up sharing a bed every night for a week solid.

———

Pavel’s counseling sessions with Spock had become few and far between lately, planned as monthly with no rescheduling if one of them had to cancel. They’d become more like coffee dates, anyway, just chitchat between friends rather than the intense and targeted conversations they’d begun as. Pavel didn’t leave feeling raw or relieved anymore, just relaxed and content. Pavel was so open with his friends now that he didn’t truly need a dedicated time to discuss what was going on in his head, and there hadn’t been anything deep or dark or especially sensitive to discuss since he’d put what happened on Denrovia in his past.

Today, though, two days after Pavel broke up with Jim, there was an appointment with Commander Spock on his calendar, and Pavel felt like he needed it. He was sad, which he did not think particularly required a therapist, but he was also so damn angry, and he thought maybe that did. 

He was pissed off at Jim, half convinced that Jim had always known Leonard wouldn’t accept an advance from Pavel, but that he’d said whatever was necessary to get Pavel into his bed. He was angry at himself for thinking that, because the other half of him knew that Jim would never.

He was furious at the Denrovians, because he knew Leonard had been attracted to him before and was obviously not, now, and he was suddenly mortified all over again; whatever he had done or said in that cell, however he had looked or acted, it must have been all wrong, all terrible. And then he was even more furious at the Denrovians, because fuck them for making him feel this way all over again.

He wished it had never happened, and then he was angry because he couldn’t really wish that, because he shouldn’t have to regret his relationship with Jim, which had been wonderful until it had been excruciating. But if they hadn’t been imprisoned on Denrovia, he would never have started dating Jim, and if they hadn’t been imprisoned on Denrovia, things with Leonard wouldn’t have gone so badly, but things with Leonard would never have gone anywhere at all if he hadn’t started up Jim, which wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t been a virgin, and then not, on Denrovia. 

He was a mess, a ball of feelings, all of them bad, and he told all of that to Spock, face red and hands wheeling, words running over each other, smashing into his accent so that he was sometimes unintelligible. And Spock sat through it all, inscrutable and motionless, and when Pavel finally trailed off, Spock said, “I was not aware that you had dissolved your relationship with Captain Kirk.”

Pavel blinked. “Oh,” he said, brow wrinkling, “it was only the day before yesterday. I have not really been able to talk about it. I thought Jim—the captain would have…”

“Hmm,” Spock said, folding his hands together. “I do not find your emotional reaction as exceptional as you seem to believe it to be. You are grieving a great loss, Pavel, and anger is very often associated with grief. The fact that it circles back to Denrovia is unsurprising, as well. I found your lack of anger directly afterward notable. Your reaction, which was not unhealthy but was unusual, was to absorb the experience and use it to develop and strengthen your relationships with those who shared your trauma. But because the aftermath was exceptionally positive, you may not have worked through the loss you experienced on Denrovia.”

Pavel pursed his lips, biting back his impulse to deny that he’d lost anything on Denrovia. He did know, intellectually, that something had been taken from him, even if he hadn’t ever seen a point in examining it. He should have been able to choose that, the when the where the how the who, and he wasn’t, and that—it sucked.

Spock leaned forward and put a hand on Pavel’s knee. “I am very sorry, Pavel,” he said, his eyes steady on Pavel’s. 

Pavel breathed until he couldn’t anymore, then turned his eyes to his lap and nodded. 

———

Spock closed his eyes when the door slid shut on Pavel’s back, kept his breathing even and his face relaxed, let his thoughts dive inward. Something about Pavel’s pain, the way it turned to anger when it hit the air, was familiar and agonizing. He indulged in that, immunizing himself against the emotion it stoked until it had cooled enough for him to handle.

When he could move on, Spock began to review the conversation he’d had with Pavel, examining his own methods, his own comments. He always wished to perform at as high a level as possible, and since his expertise was so limited in this field, he executed a thorough retrospective analysis after each session.

Spock thought he’d functioned well as counselor today, that he had successfully looked past layers of inflamed flesh to locate the internal bleed in Pavel’s psyche. Spock wondered whether he ought to have questioned further how acutely Pavel had reacted to Dr. McCoy’s rejection, or how quickly—perhaps impulsively—Pavel had made the decision to end his relationship with Jim. Ultimately, he thought that no, it was best to focus today on Pavel’s grief, to let that settle, to let Pavel work through that one thing for a while before delving into adjacent concerns.

He did have to admit, only to himself, that the situation was frustrating. Spock had been aware of Pavel’s intensifying feelings for Dr. McCoy. It hadn’t been a topic Pavel had directly addressed, but rather something he had mostly hinted at, talked around. It was, in fact, clearest when Pavel was speaking about other topics entirely; the frequency with which he talked about Dr. McCoy, a certain inflection he used when he did, emphasized to Spock that Pavel found Leonard a most fascinating and enjoyable topic. He was unsurprised that these feelings had reached critical mass, but the idea that they were the impetus for the dissolution entirely of the relationship was troubling.

For his part, Dr. McCoy had not given voice to any non-platonic feelings toward Pavel, but Spock had inferred that they existed, that in fact, they were very strong and quite complicated. His reading of that came merely from seeing Dr. McCoy and Pavel existing in the same spaces, the consideration and attention Dr. McCoy paid to Pavel. It was probable that what Pavel had interpreted as rejection was actually a fear response, and that any callousness Leonard had displayed was a cover for that.

As a friend, Spock might have counseled Pavel to be persistent and patient. He might have spoken with Nyota, who would not have been able to resist meddling in a sentimental and no-nonsense sort of way. He might have spoken with Jim about it, assisted Jim in resolving these issues that appeared to have been caused mostly by the human inclination toward obfuscation.

As a counselor, Spock could do none of these things. He could not divulge anything relayed to him in his professional capacity, and there was no way for him to separate out what he knew from his seat in this chair versus what was more or less public knowledge for the observant. It grated, that he would have to merely be patient, wait for at least one of the three fools to come to his senses, but Spock was able to suppress that vexation. 

Surely, it would all be resolved fairly quickly. Spock was perplexed that even 24 hours had passed without the situation having been remedied; he would have expected that the instant Dr. McCoy learned about the reaction he’d provoked, he would have taken steps to rectify it. The muscles in Spock’s face tightened in annoyance, and he consciously worked to relax them. Certainly, it would be cleared up soon; Dr. McCoy would not be able suffer Jim’s undoubtedly broken heart for much longer.

———

Jim didn’t tell Bones. He didn’t know what he’d say, and he wasn’t really dealing with any of it, anyway. Nothing made sense, and he thought Pavel would change his mind, work out whatever the fuck was going on in his head and let Jim help him fix it. It had been good, really good, amazing, and it couldn’t just be over. Jim replayed every interaction he’d had with Pavel in the previous days, and he couldn’t figure out what had gone wrong. It was obviously something Jim had done, because you don’t just go straight from mindblowing sex and heated debates peppered with sweet, conciliatory kisses to breaking up, unless someone seriously fucks up. And whatever it was Jim had done, he hadn’t done it to just himself and Pavel, he’d done it to Bones, too, because as far as he could tell, Pavel and Bones had been on the verge of something. If he’d really screwed that up, Jim didn’t know how to break it to Bones.

So he didn’t mention it. He was just there, alone with Bones, more than he had been for months. He spent three nights in a row, laying in a bed with just Bones, no Pavel stepping inside Bones's quarters just after Jim, bouncing on the balls of his feet, always a little nervous for the first few minutes. No Pavel, curling up on Jim's other side while they watched a vid, and no Pavel sitting with them at lunch, making terrible jokes that Jim found occasionally hilarious, and that Bones sometimes laughed at but never really fully understood.

Jim obviously should have seen it coming, should probably have been surprised it didn’t come sooner, but he was totally unprepared when, on the third day after Pavel had jettisoned Jim with no explanation, Bones asked where the hell he was.

“He didn’t get blown out an airlock and you just forgot to mention it, did he?”

There was something weird about the way Bones was asking, something wrong with the rhythm of his speech, the way Bones was tapping his fingertips against his thighs, but Jim was too busy panicking to pay much attention. 

“Uh,” Jim said, very smoothly, “no.” 

Bones stared at him, eyebrows raised, and Jim turned away, shrugging and telling the wall about something science-y that astrometrics had going that fascinated Pavel. It was probably even true; astrometrics was always doing something Pavel was fascinated by. It just had never been more fascinating that Jim, before. 

Bones didn’t question it, though, actually changed the subject with some non sequitur that Jim couldn’t follow, and Jim couldn’t believe he’d actually gotten away with that. Bones knew him more than well enough to tell when Jim was telling lies, even when the lies Jim had to tell were far better lies than the mumbled, off-the-cuff bit of bullshit he’d just coughed up.

But after that, Jim made an effort to skip a couple of nights with Bones, sleeping alone in his quarters so he could later allude to having spent them with Pavel. He didn’t want to be alone, but he didn't want the questions, either, though it became pretty clear that it was a matter of time—probably a very, very brief time—before someone else unwittingly made Bones aware of the change in Jim’s romantic circumstances. 

He hadn’t expected Pavel to keep it a secret, but Jim found himself shocked speechless when Spock attempted to broach the subject with him one day in Jim’s ready room. 

“Captain, I would like to discuss something of a more personal nature with you,” Spock said, tucking several data PADDs under his arm.

Jim nodded absently, scrolling over a list of repairs to be made while the crew was engaging in shore leave mingled with some easy, relationship-strengthening diplomacy between the Federation and the people of Hal. 

“I received an official notification from Ensign Chekov regarding the modification in the status of your interpersonal relationship,” Spock continued, and Jim’s head jerked up. “I merely wanted to express my sympathies. I understand how difficult a time it must be for you, and that it may be made yet more difficult by forced proximity. If you have any need to talk, Jim,” Spock said, tilting his head, his eyes expressing the compassion absent in his voice, “I would be honored to be the friend chosen to listen.”

Jim cleared his throat, said simply, “Thanks, Spock,” before looking back down at his PADD, staring blankly at it for a few seconds, then directing the conversation to the suggested improvements to the Enterprise’s inertial dampeners.

After that, Jim was excruciatingly aware of Uhura making sad eyes at him on the bridge, her drawn eyebrows telegraphing empathy every time he caught her gaze. He couldn’t help notice, either, that Sulu mostly avoided looking at him entirely, his shoulders tensing and spine straightening whenever Jim spoke to him, even when it was just to ask for an update or issue a casual command.

Scotty, as usual, had neither affinity for or deftness with subtlety, and in an Engineering bay surrounded by at least five technicians, he told Jim in his loud brogue that “I know yer feeling lonely now, sir, but after her repairs on Hal, this ship’ll have all the stamina she needs to serve as both of our girlfriends. It was an all right time to get dumped, wasna?”

Ensign Chekov seemed…well, fuck. He was clearly sad, and trying too hard to cover it. His smile was huge and bizarre on his face whenever he had to look at Jim, his voice too bright when he had to speak to him. His work was immaculate, as always, but there was more of it—his reports had become so thorough as to be inefficient, a lot of background that Jim didn’t actually need and distracted from what he did need to know. And Jim couldn’t even address that minor, easily corrected problem, because it was just Chekov, overcompensating out of guilt over having guillotined their relationship.

It was a damn good thing Bones didn’t work the bridge with them, because he’d know in two seconds that something, everything, was wrong.

Jim was basically just trying to keep his head above water, counting the days until they docked on Hal and he could explain away Pavel’s absence to Bones with opposing leave rotations and the differing diplomatic events they’d all be attending. He needed some time away from Pavel, away from Pavel’s friends even if they were his, too, away from his bathroom where Pavel’s shampoo was still setting on the shelf and the closet that one of Pavel’s uniforms was still hanging in. He needed off this ship, and to get that, he just had to manage to stay afloat for another few days.


	10. Breathing in Lightning

Jim felt instantly, aggressively better the second his atoms coalesced on Hal’s surface. It was supposed to be an interesting planet, unstable sand mountains reaching into the atmosphere and rivers snaking through their valleys, the banks lush and green, but always with short, young, hardy plants that could reseed from their tops whenever a sandslide covered them. The Lur’Hal, the people of the world, had built their cities under giant glass domes, protecting them from the winds and whims of their ever-shifting planet. Under those domes, the Lur’Hal cities were magnificent. There, they’d grown trees, tall and vining and old, those same hardy plants that fought viciously to survive on the riverbanks thriving in stability. Most Lur’Hal lived inside those trees, hollowing them out and creating space for themselves. Their official buildings, laboratories and schools and manufacturing centers, places where more people might gather than the trees could accomodate, were carved from stone or made from the same thick, impermeable glass that stretched high over their heads. 

The entire crew was thrilled to be there. Not many outsiders had been welcomed on Hal, although the Lur’Hal had never been antagonistic to the Federation, had in fact been unflaggingly polite. They were simply private, cautious. But now they were hoping to improve their warp technology, to move onto bigger and better ships, and they had made overtures to Starfleet seeking assistance in information or materials or people. As a gesture of goodwill, they’d agreed to allow the entire crew of the Enterprise to take respite on Hal, hoping to strengthen the relationship between their peoples.

Jim had final approval over the schedules, and he’d taken advantage of that to make sure that he and Bones had their leave at the same time, that Chekov was on a different rotation that synced to Sulu’s. Outside of a few, unavoidable official events that the bridge crew would all be attending, Jim shouldn’t be seeing Pavel at all, and knowing that he won’t have to spend his time making excuses about it to Bones was a weight off his shoulders. A weight off that was replaced by grinding pain in his gut, because he still fucking wanted to see Pavel, even when he came away from it bleeding, every time.

———

Pavel loved Hal. It was so unlike any world he’d been to that everywhere he looked, he saw something new, something fascinating. The Lur’Hal scientists he’d been working with were so hungry for knowledge that he’d ended up staying in their physics laboratories for much longer hours than his schedule had promised him to them for, examining their engines and making suggestions for modifications. Pavel found it exhilarating to be surrounded by people who weren’t at all jaded by the amazing things that could be accomplished through scientific exploration, and he could see the rest of the crew being similarly energized, many of them sacrificing what were supposed to be lazy hours roaming the streets to do what was technically work with the Lur’Hal.

Everyone had read the briefing materials before disembarking the ship, of course, so everyone understood that the Lur’Hal were a race of extremely tactile empaths. Knowing that, however, didn’t mean you could force yourself to be comfortable with the near-constant, absent-minded touching, or the casual mentions of your uneasiness, boredom, even arousal should you be unfortunate enough to be feeling those things. The Lur’Hal did ask for consent before putting their fingers on anyone, but it was hard for them to remember to keep their distance, even when consent was denied. It would be the equivalent of a human being told they couldn’t look a person in the face—you’d try, to be polite, but you’d definitely slip. In the case of the Lur’Hal, the forgetting only lasted until they sensed a spike of discomfort and jerked away, which was awkward for everyone. It didn’t take long until a few of the crew were released to their own devices, excused from official duties entirely to spend their time outside the domes, trekking along the rivers, climbing dunes.

Pavel was able to adjust swiftly, and he even enjoyed the physical contact with the Lur’Hal he was best acquainted with. It wasn’t unlike Nyota scratching circles between his shoulder blades or Scotty throwing an arm around Pavel and letting Pavel do the work of standing for both of them. It was just all the time, instead of sometimes, and Pavel didn’t mind it.

Most of Pavel’s time was spent working with one of the Lur’Hal physicists, a male called Ris’Hal, whose full name was actually much longer. It was as a kindness specifically to the Enterprise’s crew that the Lur’Hal had developed these shorter monikers for themselves, and after hearing Ris’s entire name, Pavel was extremely grateful that they had. All of the Lur’Hal were large enough to match those full names, over 7 feet tall and bodies that looked slender from a distance, but that, relative to humans, were actually very broad. Their limbs were what set them apart, really, gangly and stretched looking with an extra joint on each of their fingers. Their limbs and their skin, which came in varying shades of purple and which was so smooth and tight that to Pavel, they looked like they were locomotive sculptures. 

Ris’s skin was a nice mauve color, and maybe because of all the touching, Pavel became very comfortable with him very quickly. He couldn’t hide much anyway, so he didn’t bother, and by the fourth day, the two of them were friends.

———

Jim walked into the lab, the Vice Chancellor of Hal holding his wrist and drawing circles over the skin, and the first thing he heard was Chekov, laughing. Chekov wasn’t supposed to be here, Jim had made the goddamn schedule, so he wasn’t prepared, he wasn’t braced. The Vice Chancellor looked at Jim sharply, and every other Lur’Hal in the room turned his way, but Jim couldn’t really see anything except Pavel, eyes sparkling up at the Lur’Hal scientist who was wrapped around him. Jim knew what the briefs had instructed as far as physical contact, which was to allow as much of it as you could while remaining at ease, but to Jim’s eyes, this guy was just all the fuck over Pavel.

The guy started to disentangle himself from Pavel, stiffening and stepping away, and that was when Pavel noticed that everyone was looking at the door. Pavel stopped smiling when he spotted Jim, and Jim exhaled like he’d taken a fist to the gut. He used to put smiles on Pavel’s face. 

Every muscle in Jim’s body was tensed, so he had to coax his legs into moving, count and breathe and try every trick he’d ever heard to get his emotions in check. And he knew it hadn’t worked, because every time he saw Pavel out of the corner of his eye, standing too close to that scientist, Pavel’s body inclined toward him like he was fucking inviting touch, Jim had to remind himself to breathe. The Lur’Hal must have miraculously developed some discretion during Jim’s tour of the laboratory, because Jim made it through the entire walkthrough without anyone mentioning to his face that he was about one caress away from his skeleton ripping through his skin to throw a punch at an actual giant.

And it was too much, too many minutes in that lab as a muzzled hellhound; his brain just quit on him, and so after he shook the Vice Chancellor’s hand in parting, he went back into the lab, found Pavel and asked through clenched teeth to speak to him, privately. Pavel nodded, breathing nervously through his mouth, and led Jim to a small, completely bare and very well-lit room. 

“Listen,” Jim said, his voice so sharp he didn’t recognize it as his own, “while you’re on duty, I expect you to behave like you’re on duty. You’re working, not flirting. What I’ve seen from you here is unprofessional and frankly? Embarrassing.”

Pavel went red, then white, and he gained about an inch in height when he stretched from a nervous hunch to stiff and pissed. “I apologize, Captain. I was attempting to follow your instructions—”

“My instructions didn’t involve throwing yourself at Lur’Hal physicists,” Jim interrupted, his voice rising to crash over Chekov’s.

“That is unfair, _Captain_ ,” Chekov said, his own jaw clenched, words bitten. “I have not—”

Jim took a few fast steps, closing the gap between them, and Chekov cut himself off in surprise. “I knew you were hot for it, Pavel,” Jim said, low and vicious, “but if I’d known you’d spread this easily, I wouldn’t have worked so hard.”

Pavel stopped breathing, and Jim wanted to take it back.

“I think, Captain, that you are the one being unprofessional,” Pavel said, and he turned, left the room without waiting for a dismissal, without slamming the door. 

Jim closed his eyes, squeezed them shut. He’d been unfair, he’d been unprofessional, he’d been fucking _savage_ , and he was deeply, desperately ashamed. He’d just been so—so jealous. So fucking jealous. He’d have to apologize. And report himself to Spock, probably, if Chekov didn’t get there first.

———

Pavel hurried away from Jim, past a few Lur’Hal unfortunate enough to sense everything he was giving off. He needed to find Ris’Hal, to tell him good-bye, and then he needed to go—away. Someplace where the things he was feeling wouldn’t ruin anyone else’s day.

But Ris didn’t want Pavel to be alone, not in his state. “If you would like to leave the dome, I will accompany you,” he said, stroking behind Pavel’s ear with one long finger. “We are able to feeling each other’s feelings for a reason, Pavel, and it is not so that we can ignore the pain of our friends.”

Pavel nodded, and once they were outside, breathing the cool, evening air, Ris convinced him to go with him to a bar, instead of into the desert. A bar where Lur’Hal musicians played music that Ris promised would be therapeutic, and Pavel didn’t know what that meant, but he was easily persuaded. Alcohol was probably a bad idea, but in Pavel’s mood, it sure sounded like a good one.

Pavel, his blood still thrumming with fury, was able to find space inside of himself to be astonished to find that the music the musicians played was literally therapeutic. They could sense the mood of the crowd, or of individuals in the crowd, and play whatever they thought would be most helpful or pleasing to the most people, or the person who needed it most. An audience full of pleasure seekers would receive a bop, a maudlin crowd might get either something indulgently melancholy or something cheerful and bright. 

When Ris and Pavel settled into seats near the stage, the musicians immediately ended the song they’d been playing—a nostalgic ballad—for something fast-paced and harsh. It suited perfectly, and Ris grinned when Pavel couldn’t help smiling. Ris ordered them drinks, and after finishing one, Pavel felt his breath coming easier, his shoulders sloping a little as Ris slid long fingers up and down his Pavel’s neck. Pavel had another drink, and the music gentled, and then brightened, and Pavel was just thinking that this bar was exactly the right place for him. Then he turned around, surveying the place he’d barely noticed when they walked in, and saw Jim. Jim, talking to a female Lur’Hal whi was leaning against a wall, skin a vibrant orchid. Jim’s hand was on the wall next to her, and he was leaning in seductively, and she was bent low to hear him over the music. He was flirting. Jim was actually flirting with this woman after the horrible things he’d said to Pavel.

“Oh, my,” Ris said, and it was hard for Pavel to read the Lur’Hal expressions sans any wrinkling whatsoever, but his voice was worried, apologetic. “We should have gone to the desert.”

Pavel shook his head, his face hot, belly tight. “It is fine. The music was very effective. And obviously, I cannot avoid my own captain.”

Ris’Hal hummed. “He was jealous. Hurt and angry, but primarily, deeply, deeply jealous.”

“Yes, well,” Pavel said, ducking his head, “we had a relationship that did not—it didn’t work out. Which does nothing to excuse what he said to me, and now he’s here, and he’s, he’s,” Pavel sputtered, searching for a word, “canoodling.”

“And now you are jealous,” Ris observed. He looked away, his eyes on Jim for a long while. Then he turned back to Pavel, his eyes dark, appraising. “I do not find you humans sexually attractive,” he said, and Pavel’s eyebrows kissed his hairline. Ris’Hal laughed, fanned a hand in front of his face, maybe a little embarrassed? 

“I have read,” Ris continued, “that for humans, touching is often an expression of romantic interest. I haven’t sensed attraction from you, or I would have mentioned it earlier, but I wanted it to be clear before I make this offer, that I would not be interested in moving our friendship in that direction.”

He waited for a response, so a very confused Pavel said, “Okay.”

“Well, while I am not attracted to you, your skin and hair are very pleasing to my touch, quite unlike anything on our planet. I would not mind an opportunity to further absorb your textures,” Ris shrugged, smiling playfully. “If you were interested in an attempt to recapture Captain Kirk’s attention, or to provoke further jealousy, I would be happy to engage in more extensive contact.”

Pavel huffed a surprised laugh. “That is very kind,” he began, but he looked back toward Jim, and now the gorgeous woman he was talking to had leaned forward, bending her head down so that Jim was speaking into her ear. So instead of politely declining, Pavel pressed his lips together into a thin line and nodded, scooching closer to Ris’Hal.

Ris’s long arm wound around Pavel’s waist, pulling him in tightly against Ris’s side. Pavel’s heart was racing at his own impetuousness and apprehension over how Jim would react, whether he would even care now that he had a pretty Lur’Hal hovering over him. But then Ris started talking about deuterium reactors, whether their scientists could manage to increase the efficiency of the Lur’Hal’s impulse engines and whether it would even be worthwhile when there was so much emphasis from the government to maximize their warp capabilities, and Pavel found himself able to focus on that, and to enjoy Ris’s silky fingers sliding over his neck, through his hair. Ris tugged a little at Pavel, a suggestion, and Pavel took it, sliding onto Ris’s lap, and Ris slipped his fingers beneath the hem of Pavel’s shirt, rubbing small, pleasant circles over Pavel’s belly. He was bewildered when he discovered Pavel’s navel, and Pavel was laughing as he explained that it wasn’t actually a second mouth or a sex organ, when Ris’Hal froze. A second later, Ris jerked away, gently but quickly pushing Pavel off of his lap.

“Um,” Pavel said, confused and instantly apologetic, “did I-”

“No, no,” Ris interrupted, scooting further away from Pavel. “I don’t know who that is,” he said, his skin a lighter shade than Pavel had ever seen it, “but he’s just. Just furious.”

Pavel followed Ris’s gaze to the front of the bar where a path was opening up as the crowd of Lur’Hal moved out of the way of Dr. McCoy’s long, rapid strides.

Seconds later, McCoy was at Pavel’s side, his eyes dark and wide, lips pressed together so tightly they’d gone white. He grabbed Pavel’s bicep, yanking him to his feet, and Pavel was too stunned to fight it.

“What the hell’s going on here?” McCoy spat, his voice rough and harsh. “Jim,” he said, jerking his head in the direction of where Jim was, now several feet away from his Lur’Hal companion and staring in horror at Leonard and Pavel, “Jim I expect this from. I thought you were a little different.”

Pavel’s eyes burned with the stinging tears he forced back. “I don’t—” Pavel shook his head, trying to wriggle his arm out of Leonard’s grip without making this scene even uglier. “This is very public,” he hissed, when Leonard’s grip didn’t loosen.

“Well, you didn’t seem to mind public a minute ago,” Leonard said, unmoved.

It felt like there were bricks sitting on Pavel’s chest. For the second time in a day, he was being judged wrongly and harshly by a person he was mostly in love with, and Leonard—Leonard had been the first person to ever have been inside his body, had been gentle and accepting when Pavel had been entirely without dignity. It was too much. “Yes, fine. Well, it isn’t any of your business, anyway,” Pavel said, those tears making the world a funhouse mirror, and he wrenched his arm away painfully, turning away.

But Leonard grabbed him again, this time with a hand around Pavel’s wrist that pulled Pavel back to face Leonard. “Oh, like hell it isn’t any of my business,” Leonard spat. “You are _all up in_ my business. Anyone sleeps in my bed half as often as you do is entirely my business.”

Pavel shook his head, lowered his voice, confused and tired and hurt. “That is all past-tense. Slept in your bed. And please. Please, can we talk more privately?” He stressed the last word, his voice almost breaking.

Leonard’s eyes were hot on Pavel’s, and Pavel could almost see it, a replay behind those eyes of another time when their interactions were less private than either of them would have preferred.

“Yeah,” Leonard says, gruffly, releasing Pavel’s wrist and stepping back. “all right. More private.” He gestured toward the door, let Pavel walk past him to lead the way.

———

“Hey, Bones, wait,” Jim shouted as he passed through the door to the bar, trotting to catch up and reaching for Leonard.

“No, Jesus, Jim,” Leonard said, shaking him off. “I think I’ve pretty much figured out what’s going on here, and I think we’ll all be better off if you don’t try to put your hands on me right now.”

Pavel had stopped near one of the building’s walls, a gap in the exterior lighting that remained a circle of darkness. His arms hung loose at his sides, shoulders hunched, and Jim’s stomach clenched at how small he looked. Small, alone, and…ashamed? Jim had really only seen him looking like that once, and he could’ve gone his entire life without a second showing.

“Okay, look,” Jim says, holding his palms out in front of him in the universal gesture for ‘don’t shoot’. “I get that you’re mad, but it’s not Chekov’s fault, all right? I should have told you.”

“Told me?” Bones said. “This was what? Some kind of plan?” Bones’s fury had obviously returned, just as fresh and hot as it was when he first saw Pavel in that bar, necking with that Lur’Hal asshole and scattered the entire crowd with a tsunami of rage. “You’re such a goddamn asshole, Jim. You decided to screw around the second you got planet-side, and you had to do it when Pavel was watching?” Bones shook his head, lips twisted in contempt. “I cannot conceive of a bigger—”

“Whoa, no,” Jim said, stepping backward, palms still splayed. “No, you are completely wrong here, Bones.”

“You didn’t tell him?” And that was Pavel quiet and hurt.

“Tell me goddamn WHAT?” Bones shouted, veins in his neck pulsing, and somehow Jim ignored that, turned to look at Pavel.

“No, all right! No, I didn’t tell him, I didn’t want to talk about it. I was, fuck!” Jim kicked at the building’s stone exterior, bit his lip against the pain that shot through his foot. “I was hoping,” he said, when no one else filled the silence, “that you’d change your mind, and I wouldn’t have to tell him anything.”

“ _Tell me WHAT_.” Bones looked like he might actually explode, and Jim still couldn’t find the words.

“We broke up,” Pavel said, exasperated.

“No, you broke up with me,” Jim said. “I didn’t have any part in it, any say. You decided.”

Pavel rubbed at his forehead, sighing. “Yes. I decided. And I’m sorry that it hurt you. I had to think of me, too, though, and it would have been even worse later, for both of us.”

“You broke up?” Bones echoed, late and hollow. He turned to Pavel, eyes wide with disbelief. “You broke up with him? With Jim?”

Pavel turned his head away, silent.

"What did you do?" Bones asked, eyes on Jim and voice hardening again, turning dark and mean. "This? You can't keep your dick to yourself even when you've got two entire people devoted to your upkeep? I swear to God, Jim—”

"No!" Pavel and Jim, simultaneous.

"Truly, Doctor," and Bones jerked his head to Pavel, because it had been a while since he'd called him that when they weren't actually on duty. "The captain did nothing wrong."

"What, you just got tired of him?" Bones's tone and expression made it clear that he didn't believe that Jim Kirk could bore anyone.

"No. No, of course not. I just thought that...that the relationship had run its course. That there was no further to take it."

"Well that sounds like a load of bullshit," Bones said, crossing his arms.

"It is not. I couldn't--I couldn't be with Jim anymore. It was not working"

Bones tapped one of his toes, thoughtful. "But you love him." And Chekov and Jim had never exchanged those words, but there was no question in Bones voice. 

“Da," Pavel said, quietly, ducking his head.

"Well, he--"

"C'mon, then, " Jim cut in, a dam breaking under all of the words that Jim hadn’t spoken when Pavel stood in front of him and told him it was over, or in any of the minutes that had ticked by since, when Pavel sat two feet away, slept three decks away, ate at one table over. "There's--look, I don't know what you want. You have to tell me, or I can't give it to you, but I’d give you pretty much anything. I could be more romantic? I swear to god, I’m not sleeping around, I don’t even want to, I—we could have more sex, or less sex? Or different sex, we could…you know, whatever. Anything. C'mon, Pavel. C'mon."

Jim's eyes were shiny, and he was basically begging, everything about his tone, his body language a plea. And he was sure, in the seconds that followed, that Pavel would give him another chance. He could see the softening of Pavel’s body, the ‘yes’ in Pavel’s eyes. But then Pavel straightened, a filter sliding over his eyes and obscuring anything behind the green. 

“You can’t fix it, Jim,” he said, gentle but toneless.

There was a long moment filled with insect noise and muffled sounds from inside the building, vehicle noises humming somewhere farther away Pavel finally moved, started to turn back toward the bar, and Jim straightened, said, “Hey, wait.”

Pavel looked at him, wary, and Jim swallowed painfully, said, “I was completely out of line earlier. You didn’t do anything wrong, and I was out of control. I’m so sorry, Pa—Ensign Chekov. I _swear_ nothing like that will happen again. I’ll be reporting myself to Commander Spock. I’m not exactly sure what HQ will do, but you could submit your own—”

“Don’t,” Pavel interrupted. “Don’t report yourself. It’s enough that you would have.” Jim opened his mouth to protest, but Pavel waved a hand, “It would be a headache for me. I don’t want to deal with the paperwork.”

Jim licked his lips, nodded, and he didn’t breathe until Pavel disappeared back through the bar’s doors. 

———

They hadn’t said anything while they walked through the streets, and Jim didn’t remember how they got to the transport site, or how they got to his quarters after that. He was hollow and numb, so he sat on his couch next to Bones and waited for the anesthesia to wear off, for the pain to hit.

“Okay,” Bones said, his elbows on his knees and his knees spread, Bones’s ‘dealing with your shit’ posture. “So why didn’t you tell me?”

Jim dropped his head into his hands, breath rushing out. “I just--I didn’t want it to be real. And I really did think maybe he’d realize it was a mistake, take me back.”

Bones nodded. “But he hasn’t.”

“He hasn’t,” Jim said, voice cracking. 

“And he won’t?”

Jim shook his head. “It doesn’t look like it.” 

Bones nodded. “Well, what’d he say? Why’d he do it?”

Jim straightened and held out his hands. “Your guess is as good as mine. He didn’t give me a reason, just that he wasn’t happy, or it wasn’t working. He just ended it.”

“And you just let him? That’s the end of it?”

Jim looked at Bones, his mouth open. “What was I supposed to do?”

“You know what I mean, Jim,” Bones said, a frustrated grimace on his face. “You didn’t try to convince him to stay? You haven’t tried to woo him back? I’ve never seen you give up on anything. Dammit man, fight for him!”

“Bones,” Jim said, reaching out to put his hand on Bones’s thigh, “I’m dying to.”

“Okay, then!” Bones brightened, sitting taller. “Let’s work up a plan of action—”

“If I were anyone else, Bones,” Jim said, his voice quiet, seeking, “I would. But I _can’t_. I’m his _captain_.”

And Bones’s hands, still in the air from beginning to draw up an invisible plan, dropped to his sides. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Jim said. “The shitty part is, I think it could work. I think if I could find the right words, or—I mean, maybe I could seduce him, or just cry and look really pathetic, I think he’d give it another shot. I think he still, you know, that he loves me. But I can’t know exactly where the line is, and I can’t risk...it could end up looking like coercion, or feeling to him like coercion, and I won’t do that to him.”

Bones sighed, all the energy escaping his body and leaving him unsteady. “Well, fuck,” he said, dropping his head. “So that’s that.”

Jim closed his eyes, lowered his head, nodded. “Yeah.”

“Come here, sweetheart,” Bones murmured, putting an arm around Jim’s rounded back and pulling him close. He pressed his lips against Jim's head and rubbed his back in soft circles.

After a long, quiet moment, Jim said, “I miss him.”

“I know. He took up more space than I’d’ve guessed.”

“Are you mad?” Jim asked, raising his head to see Bones’s face.

“No. I’m not thrilled that you kept it from me, but,” Bones held out a hand, palm up, “what’s to be mad about? Relationships don’t always work.”

Jim wondering if Bones was thinking about Jocelyn, about the big, beautiful house they’d shared, or how she’d—Jim didn’t know, hum while doing dishes or something. “But ours--we’re okay?”

Bones didn’t answer, but his eyebrows lowered questioningly.

“I—I messed up a lot. I didn’t talk to you about—before we even. I didn’t communicate. I was probably pushy about the whole thing, didn’t really give you time to think about it. And then, after—” Jim moved his hands a lot while he spoke, large gestures filling the space where Chekov’s name left holes.

“Communication isn’t exactly my greatest talent, either. I understand not wanting to put things into words.” Bones pursed his lips, fond, holding Jim’s gaze with his own. “We’re fine, Jim.”

Jim dropped his head onto Bone’s shoulder again. “I love you,” he said, muffled, a little sad. 

Silence. Silence, but then, “I love you, Jim.”

Jim jerked his head up, and Bones winced. He sighed, looked away from Jim. “You don’t have to look so surprised,” he muttered. “I do love you. I know I--it’s hard, for me. But I love you, and I’ve been a damn bastard if you really don’t know that. I know you miss Pavel. I’d change it if I could.”

Jim leaned forward and pressed his lips against Bones’s, soft and dry. “I did know,” he whispered when he pulled back, “but sometimes I wavered.”

“Well stop wavering.”

“Are you worried I’ll start fucking around again?”

Bones’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s a helluva subject change.”

Jim shrugged, kept his eyes steady on Bones’s.

“All right. Yeah, I guess I am.”

“Because it was Pavel’s rule,” Jim said.

Bones nodded.

“And we never had rules.”

Bones nodded.

“Well, that’s not good enough for me, anymore,” Jim said, serious, but a little smile creeping the corners up his lips up.

“What kind of rules are we talking, here?” Bones asked, affecting skepticalness.

“I’d like to try monogamy.”

“Words I never thought I’d hear outta your mouth,” Bones teased.

“It’ll be a new challenge, for me. I don’t back down from challenges,” Jim shrugged.

“You never wanted that before.”

The playfulness evaporated out of Jim’s body, and he nodded seriously. “I was just scared. I thought I’d mess up, and you’d end up hating me. I know cheating is a--that it’s a big problem for you, because of,” Jim waved his hand in a way that apparently meant ‘your ex-wife’. “I thought maybe it was better if it wasn’t a factor.”

Bones rubbed a hand over his stubble. “I hated you sleeping with other people, but I don’t want to take advantage of a low spot, for you.”

Jim shook his head. “I don’t need anything else, Bones. I just--I don’t know, it was fun, it was what I was used to, and I felt like I was supposed to. But it’s not like you’re not enough for me. I’m just a selfish asshole. I guess I’m trying to turn that around.”

Bones smiled, then. “Okay. So--I guess we’re a real couple now. Don’t go around calling me your boyfriend or anything.”

Jim laughed. “No, I think you’re past the boy stage.”

-———

It sucked, and it was hard, but it was a little more bearable now that Bones knew the truth. Jim hadn’t realized how heavy the burden of a secret could be until it was gone and he could lift his feet again. He missed Pavel, desperately, and it still hurt to look at him, Jim’s longing an almost visible ripple in the space between them, like heat distortion. But now he could squeeze Bones’s hand when it got too intense, and Jim found he could breathe through it with Bones sharing the pain.

And Bones did, share the pain. He missed Pavel, too, maybe as much as Jim did, although he didn’t say as much. There was a pair of Pavel’s socks that had moved from a shelf in the living room where Bones had inexplicably been storing them to Bones’s nightstand drawer, hidden away but easily accessible. And there was the time Jim had woken up before Bones and lain awake, watching while Bones slept, then woke. Bones had opened his eyes, smiled sleepily at Jim, and then lifted his head off the pillow, looking for something in the empty space on the other side of Jim. Bones hadn’t found it, and his eyes had shut tight, not opening again until he’d turned completely away from Jim.

There was also the way Bones held himself so carefully whenever Pavel was in the room, and the way Bones never looked at Pavel but still always knew exactly where he was, and the way Bones suddenly had a counseling appointment with Spock on his calendar, surprising since the ‘hardly ever’ appointments he’d started out with had trailed off into ‘literally never’ as soon as the Spock had begun to let it slide.

So Jim knew that Bones was hurting, and Jim was hurting, but at least they could do it together. Bones was basically his ideal partner in commiseration; the right mixture of jokes that flayed and drinking to forget and therapeutic sex. Jim wanted Pavel back, and he wouldn’t get him, and now he could see how someday, that would be okay.


	11. Not Hard to Grow

It took a few days. Jim had been in a state of denial before Hal, and after, he’d been the walking wounded. Leonard had focused on Jim, soothing or commiserating or distracting as Jim seemed to need, and the actual specifics came out slowly, in bitter shards and tearful drips. And the first time Leonard sat down to sort through it, realization settled into his gut like a bowling ball. He knew the exact date that Pavel had pressed a hesitant kiss on Leonard’s lips and wound up crushed against a wall with Leonard rutting against him. Now he also knew the date that Pavel had come to Jim out of the blue and broken his heart, unable or unwilling to give a reason. The dates were too close to be a coincidence—Leonard had seen twins born with more days between them—and now he knew exactly what Pavel hadn't told Jim.

It was Leonard’s fault. Pavel’s slumped shoulders and Jim’s sleep-whimpers and all of the pain of all of the people who were hurting on their behalfs. The guilt was shredding, ripping pieces of Leonard away each day, and he deserved to do penance, but he couldn’t tell Jim. It wouldn’t have made anything easier, wouldn’t have brought Pavel back or sent Jim running to him. Anyway, if Pavel had wanted Jim to know, he’d have told him himself, and Leonard knew that it was important to Pavel that people didn’t question his judgment, that his decisions were respected.

So Leonard did the only thing he could do. He’d hated his counseling sessions with Spock. He hated talking about his feelings; he wasn’t good at it, it was hard for him, and it mostly felt like a damn waste of time, so as soon as he could wrangle his way out of them, Leonard had stopped going. But this thing with Pavel wasn’t going away, and it wasn’t getting easier as time passed, and talking to Spock—although he’d die before he admitted it—had helped the first time he’d felt like he’d ruined Pavel’s life.

So Leonard went to Spock’s quarters and parked himself in Spock’s armchair and told Spock all of it. That he'd worked out pretty quickly that Pavel was attracted to him, how he’d promised himself to ignore it because he wasn’t going to take advantage of the kid’s Stockholm Syndrome. But when it came right down to it, he’d kicked his principles out of the way and attacked Pavel with a hurricane of pent up desire, convincing the kid once and for all that Leonard wasn’t a person who Pavel could trust to be such a large part of his life.

He stopped talking, tied up in knots, and looked up at Spock, expecting the same bland expression he always wore. And Spock, the useless lime-filled pastry, had had the nerve to look surprised.

Spock opened his mouth, inhaled, closed his mouth. 

Great, Leonard thought. This was all very helpful, he didn’t feel judged at all. 

And then, “Dr. McCoy, are you suggesting that Pavel ended his relationship with Jim because you were overly aggressive, sexually?”

“Well, that’s about the long and short of it,” Leonard said, grimacing.

Spock tilted his head, eyes weirdly intense on Leonard’s face. “Leonard,” he began, then seemed to step backward in his head, moving to a different conversational fork. “Would you say that your physical response to Pavel’s advance was out of proportion with the strength of your feelings for him?”

“Uh,” Leonard said, “no, I don’t suppose it was.”

“And were you significantly more forceful than is usual for you? Would, for example and excuse me for being so personal, Jim have found it shocking if he had been in Pavel’s stead?”

Something itched in Leonard’s brain. He thought he knew where Spock was going with this, and it set off a little tingle of something like relief. “No, not especially.”

Spock nodded, accepting the answer he’d been expecting. “Well, then I cannot see a reason for you to carry guilt on that account. Pavel was uninjured, and as he has made no reports hinting that you behaved inappropriately, the only question is one of compatibility. If Pavel truly was scared off by your intensity, he would eventually have found himself ill-suited to a physical relationship with you. The strength of your reaction was an honest one, and honesty is one of the only things you actually owe a prospective mate.”

Leonard hadn’t come here expecting absolution, but Spock was offering it anyway, and Leonard grabbed at it gratefully. He hadn’t really interacted with Pavel since Hal, but he had in the weeks before that, and the kid hadn’t seemed to hate or fear him. It seemed…plausible, anyway, that Pavel had just decided that he and Leonard weren’t romantic complements, and that it was time for him to move on.

“However,” Spock said, and Leonard rolled his eyes, because of course there was a ‘however,’ “Pavel is and extremely even tempered young man, not easily fazed. I would be quite surprised if he reacted so extremely to a mere kiss. Perhaps something more occurred?”

Right, apparently Vulcans didn’t ravage. “I think I already mentioned, it was a little more than a kiss,” Leonard said, frowning.

Spock had that look again, like he was swarming with words, but instead of saying them aloud, he was willing them into Leonard’s head. Leonard wondered if there were any Vulcan syndromes that caused sporadic mutism, but when Spock did open his mouth, it was in his usual bland tone, asking perfectly normal questions about how relationship with Jim was faring.

———

In the six weeks since the Enterprise warped away from the shifting sands of Hal, the tension onboard eased somewhat for Pavel. Apparently a break up had a shorter gossip lifespan than a new relationship, because it had been weeks since he walked into the mess and had to steel himself against a noticeable hush. Now, the staring had fallen off to levels not seen since before it became common knowledge that he was “that ensign that Captain Kirk is fucking,” and Pavel was back to being just another gold shirt in a sea of them.

Some lightness returned to the bridge, like the entire crew had taken a deep breath and found the air clean again. Nyota returned to subtly insulting the captain whenever he opened himself up for it, and real mirth had crept back into Jim’s eyes when he scowled at her, replacing the unconvincing performance he’d been attempting before. Pavel had sighed in relief one day when he glanced over at Hikaru and seen Jim standing behind him, a hand on Hikaru’s shoulder. Those casual, friendly touches that Jim habitually sprinkled around the ship had been suspended where Hikaru was concerned, and Pavel thought Jim might have actually been worried Hikaru would shake him off, make a scene. Hikaru wouldn’t have, Chekov was sure, but he was relieved to see this bit of normalcy make a come back.

There was even a day when Pavel forgot to be self-conscious and laughed too hard at one of Jim’s jokes. When he realized that he’d actually turned his chair around and was grinning at Jim, he found Jim was looking him right in the eye and smiling back.

Eventually, Nyota started pointing out cute, single guys in the mess, an activity Scotty joined in on gleefully when he caught on to what was happening. Pavel didn’t love that Scotty couldn’t seem to help himself from very obviously pointing at men who he thought might be handsome, but Pavel did appreciate the enthusiasm on his behalf. He was very aware, however, that he hadn’t actually fallen out of love with either of the people he was supposed to be moving on from, and that rebounding with someone he wouldn’t be able to escape for a matter of years was out of the question.

So when they docked at a space station for some kind of Starfleet-wide sensitivity training, the second they were free from their assemblies, Nyota, Scotty, and Hikaru dragged Pavel to the biggest, loudest, most crowded bar they could find.

Scotty ordered him a drink while Nyota explained that some people found groups intimidating. “We don’t want to scare off any elligible hotties,” she’d said.

Scotty had added, “Aye, but ye’ve nothing to worry about, lad. We’ll be just here, hangin’ off of every word.” 

Hikaru, at least, had the decency to look abashed while the three of them stepped about six inches away and turned their backs to Pavel.

Less than five minutes later, smiling up at an absolutely gorgeous man, Pavel had to admit to himself that they may have been right. Eligible hotties, indeed.

———

When Leonard had agreed to meet Jim in a bar at the end of the day, this had not been what he’d been picturing. A bar, to Leonard’s way of thinking, was dimly lit with simulated incandescent lighting, had a jukebox or an actual radio playing music just loud enough to hide other people’s slurping noises, and was no more than three quarters full. This place, with its multicolored strobes, an actual DJ pulsing to the music she played, and people sliming up against each other like sardines, was a club. 

“This,” Leonard grumbled, shoving Jim’s legs off the chair Jim had reserved by stretching across two seats like the world’s biggest asshole and sitting down, “isn’t a bar.”

“Well, they’ve got bourbon, so I’d say it’s close enough,” Jim said, sliding a glass in front of Leonard with the tip of his first finger. “It might even be good bourbon.”

Leonard grimaced, but he tried the bourbon, and it went down pretty smooth. “I’m too old for any place where people are fucking in the bathrooms.”

“C’mon, you can’t know—”

“Jim, I’ll buy you the entire bottle this came from,” Bones said, picking up Jim’s tumbler with his thumb and middle finger, shaking it a little, “if there aren’t any suspiciously wet noises coming from the stalls when you go to piss.”

“If you stop your bitching long enough to drink any of the glass I already paid for, I’ll buy you another,” Jim promised, and Leonard noticed that Jim didn’t make a wager of his own. 

“You tryin’ to get me liquored up, Jim?” Leonard said, taking another swallow, closing his eyes against the satisfying burn.

“Oh, yeah,” Jim said, leaning into Leonard, close enough that Leonard could feel Jim’s lips move against his ear. “I hear there are people fucking in the bathrooms.”

Leonard rolled his eyes, but he put an arm around Jim, pulling him in so Jim’s chair slid right up against his and Jim could rest his head on Leonard’s shoulder.

They drank slowly, minutes of banter slipping by between sips, and then Jim sat up straight, staring at something across the bar, alert in a way that was ringing alarm bells in Leonard’s head. 

Leonard stiffened, too, said, “What is it?” 

“It’s Pavel,” Jim said.

It was nice to know Klingons weren’t invading this nightclub, but Leonard didn’t relax any, and when he finally picked Pavel out of the crowd, he could see why Jim was at yellow alert. It was Pavel, all right, looking happy and nervous and smiling a pretty smile at some dick who wasn’t good enough for him.

The guy was a douche, hair doused in mousse to look like his pillow had arranged it for him, teeth so white they glowed in the distance.

“He’s got no chance,” Leonard said reflexively.

“He looks like a total player,” Jim said, strangled. “Pavel would never.”

“He’s way too smart.” Leonard tried to sound reassuring, but they both knew Jim sort of looked like a player, too. Maybe the kid had a type.

Then Pavel laughed, resting a hand on the guy’s arm.

“He’s flirting,” Jim said, something like disbelief and horror in his voice.

“He’s just being nice,” Leonard said, knowing he was wrong. “I know you’re a stranger to etiquette, but Pavel’s mama taught him to be polite.” 

Jim leaned even further forward all of a sudden, said “Wait, is that Uhura? And—”

Leonard didn’t hear anything else Jim said, because this complete fucker had leaned down, put his lips on Pavel’s, and everything sort of slowed down, sounds fizzing in his ears before bouncing back out. He was on his feet and across the bar, shoving rudely past people without even muttering apologies, legs eating up the space.

The kiss ended before Leonard reached them, but Pavel was still entirely too close to the asshole, pink and smiling, but maybe looking slightly…disappointed? Pavel didn’t notice Leonard until Leonard put a hand on his shoulder, and when he turned and saw Leonard, Pavel flinched. 

And ember of mean satisfaction flared in Leonard’s gut at the idea that some part of Pavel felt like he’d been caught doing something wrong. 

“Hey there,” Leonard says, faking pleasant in a way that was intentionally transparent.

“Um,” Pavel blinked. “Dr. McCoy?”

“Coincidence, running into you here,” Leonard said, continuing the affect. “Aren’t you gonna introduce me to your friend?”

Pavel blinked, then stepped back and gestured to the douche. “This is Steve. He’s on the USS Almasi.”

“Mmhmm,” Leonard said, reaching forward, offering his hand to Steve, who was eyeing Leonard uncertainly, nostrils flared. Apparently humans really could detect territorial pheremones. 

Steve shook Leonard’s hand, and Leonard squeezed harder than he should’ve. “Dr. Leonard McCoy, CMO on the Enterprise. Having a good night?” Leonard asked. 

“Uh huh,” Steve answered, eyebrows low, off-balance and pissed about it.

“Great, good,” Leonard said, then dropped the smile, stretched up and out to take up as much space as was possible. “Your turn.”

Steve blinked, flushing angrily. “What?”

Leonard gestured at Pavel. “Tell me his name,” Leonard said, still looming and now over-enunciating his words, speaking slowly, insultingly.

Steve clenched his jaw, looking for all the world like he wanted to throw a punch, and Leonard desperately wanted him to. But Steve-o reined it in, managed to smirk and puff out his chest and said, confidently, “Paul here is stationed on the Enterprise.”

And Leonard laughed, loud and mocking, and Steve’s entire body tensed, his hands curled into fists. Leonard waited, waited, a vicious smile on his lips.

But Pavel spun him around, one hand on Leonard’s shoulder, the other on his waist, steering him through the crowd and out the door. Leonard let himself be herded, wondering if Steve had taken that swing, maybe narrowly missed Pavel shoving Leonard away and tripping over his own feet. He’d have fucking deserved the humiliation. 

When they reached the club’s exit, Leonard’s muscles were still tense with unloosed adrenaline, but he was feeling lighter, triumph glowing in his chest.

———

The hallway outside of the club was still a pretty main thoroughfare, so while it wasn’t nearly as packed with bodies as it had been inside, it was still far from private. 

“What are you doing,” Pavel hissed through his teeth, an attempt at discretion. 

Leonard didn’t care about drawing attention. He raised an eyebrow, and did not lower his voice, and said, “Look, it’s fine with me if you wanna play pissy and pretend you’re mad at me for interrupting. Seems to me, you oughtta be mostly relieved. That guy didn’t have anything you’re looking for.”

Chekov flushed, fury pitching his voice high. “It is funny that you think you have any right to decide that for me, to intervene like I am some sort of child, like you need—”

“Oh,” Leonard interrupted, stepping in close to Pavel, “you can believe I know you’re not a child. And it’s funny to me that you think I shouldn’t care who it is you’re rubbing up against, when we’ve both been using the same scratching post for the better part of a year.”

“But that is over, now,” Pavel spat.

“Yeah, and you got to decide that unilaterally, didn’t you?” 

“That is how break-ups usually work.”

“You didn’t break up with me, though,” Leonard observed. “So I guess I still have an interest in your extra-marital affairs.”

Chekov shook his head, his face and neck red with frustration. “There was never anything between us to begin with.”

Leonard hummed, leaned back and crossed his arms over his body, looking lingeringly over Chekov, a deliberate survey. “Liar.”

“Go to hell,” Chekov said, but he didn’t argue the point, and he wasn’t meeting Leonard’s eyes anymore.

“Yeah,” Leonard said, his lips twisting. “You really think I didn’t know that you wanted me? Just because you never touched me—”

“I fucking touched you!” Pavel shouted, not thinking anymore about who was looking at them. “I touched you! Wasn’t that the entire problem?”

Any trace of humor fell off of Leonard’s face. This had felt something like an angry flirtation before, something Leonard had been almost relishing. But Pavel had gone white, sweat beaded on his forehead, and in the face of this flash of emotion, Pavel’s obvious pain and serious anger, Leonard took a step back. 

He looked for help and found Jim, several feet away. He was standing next to Uhura and Sulu and Scotty, all of them looking helpless and guilty and distraught. 

Leonard focused on Jim, though, because Jim looked especially guilty, was shaking his head and mouthing, “Bones,” and Leonard struggled for breath as he realized some things. He’d known all along that touching was the problem, that Pavel had fled Jim because Leonard had been too aggressive, that the violent eruption of all of his pent up desire had capsized the boat when Pavel was still baiting his hook. But Pavel was saying something different, that the problem wasn’t the way Leonard had touched Pavel, at all. Spock had hinted at it, and all the things that spearmint flavored demon had wanted to say were echoing now in Leonard’s ears. 

Leonard looked back at Pavel, thoughtful, deadly. “Why’d you break up with Jim?”

“It—it wasn’t—”

Leonard held out a hand, stopping Pavel’s sputtering, and took his communicator, flipping it open. “McCoy to Enterprise. Three to beam up: Kirk, Chekov, Me.”

Jim finally burst into action, grabbing Leonard’s communicator out of his hand and barking, “Belay that,” into it before looking at Leonard. “Bones, what the fuck?”

“Well, Jim,” Leonard said, “I’m about sixty seconds out from losing my shit, and I thought you might prefer if that happened someplace else.”

Jim sighed, nodded, and used Leonard’s communicator to repeat the order for transport, shrugging a helpless apology at the three friends they left gaping in the corridor as they dematerialized.

———

They didn’t talk during the walk from the transporter room, Leonard leading the way to his quarters with tense, hurried strides. Pavel and Jim were behind him, side-by-side and exchanging worried glances, trying to keep up.

Leonard stopped walking abruptly four steps into his living room, facing away from Jim and Pavel, his shoulders heaving. 

Pavel watched him compose himself, biting his own lip and trying to swallow around the lump in his throat. 

“So,” Leonard said, turning around suddenly, his eyes finding Pavel’s like magnets. “Why’d you break up with Jim?”

It didn’t seem like a dangerous question, but everything about Leonard, the dark silkiness of his voice and the spread of his body, said that it was.

Chekov turned his face to the side, his lips pressed together in a bloodless line. 

Leonard hummed at Pavel’s silence, stepped close enough to Pavel that he could feel angry heat radiating from Leonard’s body. “Did he cheat one you?” Leonard asked rhetorically. “Or maybe you just weren’t ready for anything serious. Did your friends tell you he wasn’t a good guy?”

Pavel panted, something in his stomach boiling. 

“Or was it maybe,” Leonard said, so close that Pavel had to tip his head back to meet his eyes, “that his boyfriend wouldn’t fuck you.”

It was like being stabbed. Pavel’s eyes squeezed shut, his breath leaving him in a sharp whoosh, his entire body throbbing around the wound. Leonard had stripped naked and made vulgar Pavel’s dashed hopes, then put them on display. He could have spent some time there in his pain, but Jim stepped toward Leonard, said, “Bones,” the start of something more, and Pavel forced his eyes back to Leonard’s, straightening although breathing was a struggle, and said, “That is not fair,” his voice remarkably even.

The angles of Leonard’s face softened, anger melting out of him and pooling on the carpet. “No,” he said, reaching and cupping Pavel’s cheek with one hand, and Pavel pressed his face into it on instinct, “it isn’t fair, sweetheart.” Leonard’s thumb caressed Pavel’s cheekbone, and he admitted again, a little sheepish now, “It’s not fair, but someone’s gotta fight for you, and Jim can’t do it. I just fight dirty.”

He was already close enough that Pavel could feel the heat radiating off of Leonard’s body, and the hand on Pavel’s cheek slid back, fingers threading through Pavel’s curls. Just a tiny bit of pressure to the back of Pavel’s head, a question more than anything, had Pavel stepping into Leonard, an answer. Leonard slid his free arm around Pavel’s waist, pulling him close so that Pavel could feel Leonard’s entire body, strong and broad against his.

Pavel lifted himself on his toes to close the space between their lips and sighed as Leonard, mouth firm and gentle, took command of the kiss. Pavel opened his mouth, licked at Leonard’s lips, and Leonard nipped gentle and regretful at Pavel’s lower lip before pulling back. His arm around Pavel kept their bodies flush, their faces close so that all Pavel could see were Leonard’s eyes, dark, pupils blown.

“I don’t understand,” Pavel confessed in a whisper.

“I thought I scared you,” Leonard said, a little chuckle in the back of his throat. “I thought you broke up with Jim—with us—because I damn near fucked you through a wall.”

Pavel pressed his face into Leonard’s neck, shaking his head in a nuzzle. “No, no. You were right. I broke up with Jim because you didn’t.”

“Well, I won’t make that mistake twice,” Leonard promised, running the hand that was still cupping Pavel’s head down Pavel’s back, suggestive, so Pavel raised his face again, and this time the kiss was softer, wetter, burning, and this time, Pavel broke it.

He didn’t pull away, just back, and his accent was thick when he said, “You don’t want me.”

“I do,” Leonard said, eyes on fire.

“Eight weeks ago, you didn’t want me.”

“I did,” Leonard insisted, words tripping over Pavel’s. “Look, I’ll explain everything to you, I promise, some night when Jim doesn’t look like he’s about to jump out of his skin, but I swear, Pavel, I’m not messing you around.” 

Pavel believed him, and Pavel wanted to turn, to glance at Jim and see for himself whatever Jim is feeling, but his body wouldn’t do it, his stomach felt crammed with marbles at the thought. 

So he just nodded at Leonard, and Leonard smiled small and said, “So, how’d you like to go on a date with me?”

Pavel’s chest tightened, and he couldn’t help remembering when Jim had asked him something very similar. “Very, very much,” he said, his hands tightening on Leonard’s shoulders, a squeeze for emphasis.

“Great,” Leonard said, his smile twisting mischievously, “I heard there’s a real hoppin’ club on the station, and I got a friend on the USS Almasi I’d love to see again.”

Pavel pursed his lips. “I do not entirely approve of the way you handled that,” he admonished.

“Yeah, but you’re gonna go with me tomorrow, anyway,” Leonard said, leaning in for one more nipping kiss. 

And then he released Pavel, looking pleased and a little regretful, and nudged him toward Jim. Pavel took a deep breathe to prepare himself, his stomach cramping, and turned around to look at Jim.

———

Jim looked…anxious, restless, strained. Beautiful, like he always was. They stared at each other, silent and uncertain, afraid to say anything that might the the wrong thing, until finally Leonard said, “Well, okay. This is is my room, but I think Jim’s mattress will suit me better tonight.” He brushed a hand over Pavel’s back, and stopped on his way to the door to give Jim a parting kiss, lingering and sweet.

Then he was gone, and Pavel realized he was tangling and untangling his fingers, and he worried that his fidgeting was telegraphing the wrong thing. He wrapped his right hand around his left bicep, trying to still himself.

Jim finally cleared his throat, and Pavel stopped breathing in anticipation. What Jim said was, “Are you gonna be here tomorrow?”

Pavel’s eyebrows met in confusion, and he shook his head. “I have the seminar.”

“No,” Jim said, stopped and tried again. “I just meant—look, I’m glad you and Bones got your thing sorted out, or that, I mean. That you will get it all sorted out.” Jim licked at his lips, looked away from Pavel. “I get that it doesn’t mean, you know, that we have to—that you want to get back together, or anything,” Jim sounded like he wanted to sound casual, but his voice was too high, unsteady.

“I don’t want to get—oh,” Pavel said, numbly, then nodded, blinking furiously. “I understand. I hurt you, I know, it would be very difficult to, to. Um. To trust.”

“Wait, Pavel,” Jim said, rubbing his forehead, agitated. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re saying.”

“I’m so—Jim,” Pavel begged, his fingers digging into his own arm painfully.

“No, look, you broke up with me,” Jim said, and it was a request for clarification, but Pavel heard it as an accusation, and the tears burned as they slipped down his face.

“Da, yes, ya oblazhalsya,” Pavel said, his voice cracking.

“Jesus, fuck, Pavel, English all right?” A muscle in Jim’s jaw twitched, frustration pouring off of him.

Pavel shook his head, a tear dripping off his jaw, tried to steady himself. “I made a terrible mistake,” he said. “It was a misunderstanding, I didn’t want to—but, I know that doesn’t mean you were any less hurt, or that it can be corrected. I’m so sorry, though, Jim, I wish I—”

“Pasha,” Jim said, forcefully, slicing through Pavel’s frantic babbling, “I’m in love with you.”

Pavel’s breath caught, and it felt like too much of what he’d wanted to be true, he couldn’t believe it was real, but Jim wasn’t moving, and Pavel had to be brave, had to take a step onto an invisible bridge spanning a chasm. Just one step though, because Jim caught him, clutching at Pavel, and smashing their lips together bruisingly, then stumbling backward when Pavel surged forward with matching impetus, throwing both of them off-balance. 

Pavel couldn’t track any of it, after that, not how they got to Leonard’s bed or what happened to his clothes or Jim’s, although he remembered the burn of his shirt twisting as it was wrenched over his head. He was lost in a forest of heavy breathing, groans that vibrated through to Pavel’s body from Jim’s chest, and the sweat-eased friction of Jim’s skin over his, slick and soft and scratchy where blond curls accented Jim’s exertion-pink skin. There was kissing, so much wet kissing, tongues rough and unpracticed against each other, mouths that opened over any skin they could reach, licking and biting, both gentle and not. 

Pavel wound up on his stomach, Jim’s body stretched over Pavel’s back, so heavy that Pavel thought he might drown in pillows, with Jim’s hand awkward and determined underneath him, fist circling Pavel’s cock. Jim’s grip was excruciatingly tight, but Pavel’s cock was slicked with something from somewhere, and it was harsh and good, better when Pavel got his knees under himself enough to lift up a little, and Jim’s cock, slippery as his own, was sliding between Pavel’s asscheeks, and Pavel held his breath and saw stars as it slipped over Pavel’s hole and then down between his thighs, nudging against Pavel’s balls and curling Pavel’s toes.

Jim pulled back, dragging slowly this time so that the head of his cock snagged on Pavel’s asshole, and Pavel whimpered, wanting wanting. But Jim moved again, away from that, and then thrust forward again, improvising a rhythm, pausing sometimes to catch on Pavel’s hole, and Pavel had to bite his lip, tasted blood to stop himself from shoving back onto it, Jim’s pretty, thick cock.

They were playing with fire, sliding their toes along a line that they’d never drawn, a boundary that seemed to erect itself the first time they’d gotten naked together. Pavel’s brain was fogged with it, the thrill of knowing that they could, that they might, that either of them might jump over that line at any second, and he felt surges of blood coursing into his cock every time Jim hovered over the possibility, until he couldn’t get any harder, couldn’t stand a second more, and he came, throbbing and shaking and biting the pillow to keep from screaming.

Seconds later, Jim came, too, spilling hot and silky over Pavel’s balls while Pavel was still whimpering and clenching against aftershocks.

Jim collapsed backward, rolling off of Pavel and gasping. Pavel stayed where he was for a few moments, appreciating the cool air drying the skin on his back. When he did flip over, arching around the wet stain on the sheets, he saw Jim, eyes closed and grinning at the ceiling.

“I love you, too,” Pavel said, soft, and Jim opened his eyes, turned his head to look at Pavel.

“I fucking missed you,” Jim said, still panting around the words.

“I’m so sorry.”

Jim shook his head against his pillow. “Don’t. I get it. When you thought Bones didn’t—Oh, fuck,” Jim said, rolling fast to the side of the bed, reaching down.”

“What is it?” Pavel couldn’t sit up just then, couldn’t tense, but his heart sped, worry knotting in his stomach. 

Jim’s hand came back up palming his communicator, and Pavel said, “Jim, you can’t—”

“No, I just, oh, shit,” Jim muttered, flipping it open. “Kirk to Bo—Kirk to McCoy.”

“I’m asleep, Jim,” came Leonard’s voice over the channel, gruff, and Pavel pictured him in Jim’s bed, eyes still closed.

“Yeah, no, I, Bones. Hey, I think I just, uh. Cheated on you?”

Pavel’s mouth went dry at that word, but Leonard’s reply was quick, annoyed and dry, but not mad. 

“You’re an asshole, Jim.”

“I know,” Jim said, “I should have comm’ed—”

“Jesus christ, Jim, it doesn’t count. He’s mine, too. You can tell me the details in the goddamn morning.”

Jim sighed, relieved, dropping his communicator on the floor where he’d found it and flopping onto his back. He looked at Pavel, smiled sheepishly and said, “I promised him monogamy.”

“I hoped you would,” Pavel said, approving. 

“And he told me he loves me.”

Warmth flooded Pavel to his fingertips. “I missed so much,” he mused, wistful but happy.

“We’ll get you all caught up,” Jim promised, yawning. 

Chekov let his eyes close, feeling wrung out and exhausted and content. “We have plenty of time.”


	12. Got a Journey to Make

Pavel didn’t think to set an alarm for himself, so when he woke, it was to the alarm Jim had set; Jim’s alarm always went off exactly twenty minutes before Jim needed to be somewhere. Pavel needed more than twenty minutes, and they had to share the bathroom, so even rushing and skipping nonessential parts of his morning routine, Pavel found himself sneaking into the seminar a few minutes late. 

He settled into a seat in the back and immediately began scanning the crowd of bodies. It was easy to pick out Nyota’s high ponytail near the middle of the auditorium, and then Scotty and Hikaru, right next to her. All three of them were looking around, shifting and craning their necks unsubtly, and when Pavel considered who they were looking for and why, he felt a little jittery. Excited to share all his news, but nervous and embarrassed. Such a stupid, he’d been.

He saw Jim sitting up front with the higher ranking officers. He couldn’t find Leonard, but Leonard was, from the back, not dissimilar to many people in Starfleet. Pavel tried to stop his sweep and focus on the seminar, but it wasn’t all that exciting. Just a gaggle of Starfleet officials and cultural experts explaining situations in which Fleet officers might find themselves uncomfortable, encouraging them to set firm boundaries and discussing best practices for refusing participation without offending, should a scenario breach those boundaries. A Betazoid Wedding, a Dasonian Potluck, basically anything on Xapak. Pavel learned that he should desperately hope never to be invited to a Ferengi bachelor party, but aside from that, the crew of the Enterprise had already improvised many of these principles in the field. 

For once, Pavel didn’t mind that the subject matter wasn’t all that interesting. He spent most of the morning mentally playing back the last 12 hours, sifting through and detangling months of his life through the lens of everything he’d learned.

When they broke for lunch, Pavel stood, stretching and trying to look as though he hadn’t spent the last few hours daydreaming about his partner. Partners. He was grinning over that when Nyota appeared, having made a beeline through the crowd to reach him. She grabbed both of his hands, said, “Pavel, ohmygod, are you okay?” and dragged him out of the auditorium, into the hallway.

“You didn’t comm,” Hikaru added, when he’d caught up to them just outside the door.

Pavel nodded. “There was not a time. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“I wasna worried,” Scotty said, winking. “I was hopin’ ya’d left your communicator in your pocket, and your pocket on the captain’s bedroom floor.”

Scotty “oof”ed when Nyota whacked him in the gut, shouted, “hey!” when Hikaru slapped his arm, but all three of them turned to Pavel, expectant.

“Well,” he said, slowly, drawing it out, looking at them slyly out of the corner of his eye. “It was Leonard’s floor. But Jim was with me.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Hikaru said, a whisper-shout, bursting with ecstatic pride, “both of them?!”

Pavel laughed and accepted Scotty’s high five, but he was shaking his head. “No, just Jim. But soon, I think.”

“So you all made up?” Nyota asked, her hair swinging excitedly. “Like, you’re all together now. Together together.”

“Leonard asked me to go with him on a date tonight,” Pavel said, pleasantly flushed, buoyant. 

“Too fuckin’ right!” Scotty exclaimed, and Nyota squealed and Hikaru, his arms bent and hands fisted and face screwed up joyfully, looked like Pavel had just scored the winning goal. 

“My ears are burning,” Jim said, walking up behind Pavel, one hand casually settling on Pavel’s shoulder, and insinuating himself into the conversation. 

“Because your ego’s gotten so big it’s screwed up your body’s ability to regulate its temperature,” Nyota said, rolling her eyes, ruining the effect with a giant smile. 

“It’s a hard life,” Jim said, grinning. 

“Are you coming with us to eat, Captain?” Hikaru asked, his voice professional, eyes very warm. 

“I have a lunch,” Jim said, waving a hand at some uniforms with a whole bunch of stripes on their sleeves. He angled his head to look at Pavel. “I’ll see you later, though, right? Before your big,” he faltered, not sure how much to say.

“Date,” Pavel finished, “and yes. You will see me.”

Jim smiled, winked at Pavel, and excused himself. Pavel watched him walk away, and when he saw Leonard intercept Jim, exchange a few words with a wry expression on his face, Chekov’s chest tightened, anticipation squeezing his lungs.

Leonard clapped a good-bye on Jim’s shoulder, then approached their little group, and Pavel hoped his smile wasn't too goofy.

“I’d say I was sorry to interrupt this little sewing circle, but I saw Jim already did that,” Leonard observed. 

“Da,” Pavel said, bouncing on his toes, “I have only been able to relay the barest bones of what happened. I have been rudely prevented from giving particulars.”

“Ain’t that a shame,” Leonard said. “I imagine Jim’s already envisioning wild exaggerations about his stamina flooding the station.”

Sulu choked on laughter, and Nyota said, “You know, I’ve always liked you.” 

Scotty said, “If anythin’ I’ve heard about the captain is an exaggeration, I’d be the one disappointed. I like to know my friends are gettin’ it good.”

“I have heard many things about Jim that are not true, but none of them have related to his prowess,” Pavel assured.

Leonard harumphed, then looked Pavel over, appraising, before stepping in close to him, sliding an arm around his waist and pressing a kiss into his temple. “So,” Leonard said, addressing the the group, “where are we going for lunch?”

Nyota and Scotty were too busy exchanging sidelong glances to answer and Pavel was too flustered, eyes wide, cheeks pink. So Sulu said, “Um.”

“Great plan,” Leonard said dryly, one eyebrow lifting, and when he started to walk, Pavel, still snugged into Leonard’s side, allowed himself to be swept along.

———

Spock watched the door from the circular table he’d acquired. He and Nyota had agreed to meet for lunch, and as crowded as the station was, Spock had found it prudent to come directly to the cafe Nyota had specified, rather than attempt to find her in the crowd, then wait for her to gather whomever else she intended to have join them.

Spock sat perfectly still, moving only to sip at the water the server had brought for him, but he could not deny that he was unsettled, somewhat impatient. Spock had been unable to join Nyota in her recreational activities the previous evening, but she had woken him when she returned. She had apologized—and of course, it was entirely illogical to interrupt his sleep just to discuss a matter over which neither of them had any influence—but she had been unable to wait to inform him about the evening’s excitement. 

Nyota had alternately fretted and exhulted over the possible outcomes of the confrontation between Pavel and Leonard, and Spock had enjoyed watching her, beautiful in both her concern and her excitement. He had not contributed to her theorizing, but had attempted to reassure Nyota that all three men were intelligent and exceptional Starfleet officers, that surely they would show the same measure of insight and deliberation in their personal lives that they exhibited in their work. 

Nyota had made a noise of disbelief, and Spock had nodded, acknowledging that perhaps she was correct to be worried. 

Spock of course did not comment on his personal knowledge of Pavel’s or Leonard’s feelings. However, as he had a more complete knowledge of the extent of the miscommunications between them than perhaps anyone, he had his own doubts about whether they would come to an easy resolution. Spock lay awake long after Nyota subsided into sleep, feeling an irrational exasperation at the mere prospect that, in the morning, Leonard and Pavel might have dug their puerile hole yet deeper.

Spock was attempting to smooth away any tightness in his mouth at the annoyance that resurfaced at those thoughts when Nyota entered his field of vision, and part of him relaxed when he saw her wide smile. She spotted him immediately and wove her way to him, her long, brown, lovely legs moving so quickly that Pavel, who she was holding by the wrist and dragging along, had to trot to keep up. Spock felt a surge of anticipation when he saw that, traipsing a good distance behind Mr. Sulu and Scotty, was Dr. McCoy, looking comfortable, unhurried.

“Spock!” Nyota greeted him, not touching, but fluttering her eyelashes prettily in a way she did only at him. She sat in the chair closest to Spock, releasing Pavel to sit on her other side. Spock nodded at the group in general, but he kept his eyes locked on Leonard, waiting to see where he would sit.

When Scotty took the chair on Spock’s other side, and Sulu sat next to him, Spock exhaled.

“Yeah, yeah,” Leonard muttered, shrugging into the only empty chair, the one between Pavel and Sulu, looking straight at Spock, “I got some of the stupid knocked outta me.”

“It must have been quite dear to you,” Spock noted, “as you were holding onto it remarkably tightly.”

“Oh my God, Spock,” Nyota said, her eyes wide, “you knew what was going on?”

“From our obligatory head-shrinking sessions,” Leonard said, grimacing.

“And you just didn’t say anything?!” Sulu demanded

“Spock! You could have saved them a lot of grief,” Nyota said, galled and speaking over Sulu.

Spock’s eyebrows lowered incrementally, as did his voice. “Nyota, I could not have.”

“Confidentiality,” Pavel said, nodding. “It might have been easier if you’d been able to clarify some things, but I—we—appreciate very much your scrupulousness.”

Leonard snorted his disagreement, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well, I couldna keep a secret like tha’ one! Imagine, knowing two of yer friends are desperately, agonizingly in love, and ye keep it all to yerself,” Scotty shook his head. “I’d never be able to stop from shoutin’ it around the ship!”

Leonard rolled his eyes and Pavel turned somewhat pink, and Spock said, “Which is why, Mr. Scott, no one will ever ask that you do.” 

———

The afternoon session was as boring as the morning, but this time, Pavel was sitting next to Leonard. It was a professional event, and Leonard maintained that standard, not touching Pavel, but they were close enough that Pavel’s nerves were lit up with the possibility of touching. It wouldn’t have mattered if the speakers had been talking about something awesome, maybe micro-tears in subspace, Pavel wouldn’t have been able to hear a word.

They returned to the ship after, and Leonard kissed Pavel again, just a sweet rub of lips right there on the transporter pad, and then Leonard headed to his quarters alone while Pavel followed Jim to the his rooms. Jim groaned when the door slid closed, yanked Pavel close to him and kissed him with the day’s worth of stored hunger, then pulled away, saying, “I’m so jealous that Bones can touch you like that.”

Pavel blushed, and said, “I was caught off-guard.”

“I’m sure if you don’t like it, he’d—”

“No! I do, I, well. I think. I just didn’t realize he would be, you know. That he would want to be so public.”

Jim chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Yeah, I think he was probably one of those kids with his girlfriend on his lap in the band room, you know? I’m not surprised he’d want to show you off. Maybe a little sad that it’s been so long since he was allowed to be that guy.”

Pavel laughed at the band comment, unaware that PDA was a universal characteristic of musically inclined teenagers, then smiled at Jim, swiping his knuckles gently over Jim’s cheek. Jim shrugged, shaking it off, then herded Pavel into the bathroom to clean up.

Jim actually whistled when Pavel stood in front of him in his casual-but-nice, sexy-but-not-trying-too-hard outfit, gray fitted pants and a thin burgundy sweater with a collared shirt underneath. “No mousse,” Jim said approvingly, recalling what Bones had said about mousse-drenched Steve. He leaned in, kissed Pavel with a little more tongue than he meant to, but he was careful to keep distance between their bodies. He didn’t want to muss Pavel’s painstakingly-arranged-everything.

“He already likes me, yes?” Pavel questioned, turning to apparaise himself in the mirror.

“You could show up in Uhura’s uniform, Pavel. He’d still—wait, fuck.” Jim looked Pavel up and down, and Pavel knew exactly what he was picturing.

“Save it,” Pavel said, waggling his eyebrows.

“The easy access,” Jim moaned, and Pavel giggled, jitters easing a little.

Jim walked him to the door, kissed him one more time, and murmured, “You’re perfect, and he’s crazy about you, and you don’t have anything to be nervous about.”

Pavel nodded, thanking Jim with his eyes. 

“So I’ll see you in the morning,” Jim said. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Pavel didn’t make the obvious joke, and when he stepped out of Jim’s quarters, intending to meet Leonard in the transporter room, he found Leonard standing in his way.

“I thought—”

“My mama’d kill me,” Leonard said, and then he glanced Pavel over and added, “look at you,” with clear appreciation in his voice. 

“You should talk,” Pavel said, taking a step to the side so Leonard could see Jim, who Pavel could hear breathing just behind him.

“Oh, wow, Bones,” Jim said, and Pavel got that same algea-bloom of affection spreading through his chest that he’d always felt when Jim and Leonard didn’t hide their mutual adoration. Leonard glanced to either side, then moved in for a brief kiss, and Pavel’s collar itched when he noticed the way their lips clung to each other as they pulled apart. 

“Well,” Leonard said, looking back at Pavel and holding out an arm, “ya ready?”

Pavel took the arm and fluttered his fingers at Jim, let Leonard lead him away.

———

Leonard took Pavel to the nicest restaurant on the space station, not fancy enough to require a suit or a dress uniform, but it had linen tablecloths and china plates, and Pavel was charmed and touched. It wasn’t really a first date, not the way Pavel thought of them, with stilted small talk and nervous, assessing glances. 

He already knew Leonard, knew the things they had in common and a lot of things they didn’t, and things hadn’t always been easy between the two of them, but tonight, they were. This was the Leonard that Jim sank into when he was exhausted, the Leonard Pavel knew from all those nights on his sofa, Jim spread across both of them while he detailed some diplomatic incident or another and Leonard rubbed circles into his scalp. The Leonard with warm eyes and an easy half-smile, the one that Pavel knew primarily from times when Leonard forgot to ward Pavel off or hold him at arm’s length. 

This was that Leonard, but turned up one more notch; he was actually trying, now, to woo Chekov in a way that was endearingly fumbling at first, and then as dinner went on into dessert, rust falling off the gears, so charming-bewitching-alluring that Pavel couldn’t understand how Leonard ever learned to be afraid of rejection in the first place. 

They sat for a while after they finished eating, sipping drinks and leaning in toward each other, all four elbows on the table. Then Leonard stood, said, “So, on to the next?” and walked around the table to pull Pavel’s chair back so he could rise.

The space station was still crowded with ships docked for the training sessions, but Leonard managed to steer them through the crowds while holding onto Pavel, arm around his waist, hand curved intimately over Pavel’s hip. When Leonard turned down the corridor that led to the nightclub, Pavel stumbled to a stop, his eyes wide, and Leonard chuckled. 

“You thought I was kidding, huh?

“Leonard,” Pavel said, turning to face him squarely, “I know that you did not like that place.”

“You got that right,” Leonard said. “But you might’ve, if you hadn’t been there with small-dick-Steve, so I thought I’d give you a chance to enjoy it.”

“I wasn’t there _with_ him,” Pavel said, offended, and then an afterthought, “and neither you nor I have any idea of how large or—”

“Oh, hell no, we’re not talking about that.”

“You are the one who brought it up!” Pavel said, palms splayed.

“Doesn’t sound like something I’d do,” Leonard scowled.

Pavel sighed, giving in. “Fine, okay.”

“If you’d rather go somewhere else—”

“It’s fine,” Pavel said, lips pursed, and he let Leonard shift his grip to hold Pavel’s hand as they walked through the door, the two of them snaking through the packed room, Leonard leading them straight to the bar.

“Perfect,” Leonard shouted against the noise, reaching the packed bar exactly as someone slid off one of the backless stools. Leonard took it for himself, back against the bar, both of his feet up on the rungs so his legs were bent and bowed, and Pavel stood awkwardly, not sure what Leonard intended for him to do. But then Leonard dragged him in close, pulled Pavel in between his spread legs, and Pavel found that they were exactly the same height in this position. He tilted his head on instinct, felt the heat from Leonard’s lips before they landed like silk against his own. He kissed Pavel long and lazy and deep, one hand slipping down to Pavel’s ass, the other gentle around the back of Pavel’s neck.

The music quieted, the crowd dimmed, and Pavel leaned into Leonard, kissed Leonard, mostly let himself be kissed by Leonard. When Leonard pulled back, Pavel had to blink more than once to convince his eyes to focus, and Leonard said into his ear, “We can go now.”

A somewhat dazed Pavel again let Leonard lead him through the crowd, and when they were through the doors, Pavel asked, fighting the instinct to shout as his ears adjusted to the quiet, “Why did we go back there?”

“Just for that,” Leonard muttered, and if he hadn’t sounded just a little bit pissed at himself, Pavel might have been offended at the way Leonard had marked him as his territory. Instead, he felt hot and pleased, Leonard’s determined jealousy satisfying an illogical, animal part of his brain.

Leonard lead him to the arboretum after that, and Pavel was certain this this was always meant to be their after-dinner destination, that the bar was an unplanned pit-stop that Leonard hadn’t been able to deny himself. 

The arboretum was really a perfect place for Leonard to have taken him, gorgeous and lush and scientifically fascinating, filled with a variety of plants from the nearest planets, specimens that the botanists stationed here cultivated for beauty and air filtration and experimentation. Pavel would have loved to walk among the plants for hours, to study at length the placards that detailed the special characteristics of the trees and flowers and mosses. He’d have loved it any night but this night, when the soles of his feet were tingling with that caveman display, when what he really wanted was to be alone with Leonard. There were some conversations they needed to have, some clarification Pavel needed, and frankly, at this point, he thought he might prefer that communication to come not in faltering speeches, but in the form of Leonard’s sweat dripping onto Pavel’s naked skin.

Where he’d wanted to move a little slowly with Jim, Pavel was impatient to charge ahead into this relationship with Leonard. He was attracted to Leonard beyond all reason, and the sexual tension between them had been multiplying for a year or more, and beyond even that, a part of Pavel really want to lock this the fuck down. 

Pavel had thought they were moving in this direction before, and when he got too physically close, Leonard had shied away and shut it down. Pavel could admit to himself, not proudly, that he was afraid it would happen again, that Leonard would get scared and draw himself as a monster, and Pavel wanted, very much, for them to just get naked, share some orgasms, and shove this particular relationship in a box labeled ‘We Have Had Unquestionably Mutually Consensual Sex’ so that Leonard wouldn’t run away again. Or so that, at least, if he did run, there wouldn’t be any mistaking what it was he was running from.

So Pavel rushed a little through the arboretum, and Leonard must have expected it to take longer, because when they reach the far door, he checked his communicator surreptitiously for the time, says, “Well.” 

He looked around, stalling, grappling for some other activity to suggest, and Pavel took pity on him, said, “I thought,” but his heart was racing, because there was no way to say this and remain subtle about his intentions, “we might have a drink back on the Enterprise. In your room, I mean.”

Pavel couldn’t breathe through the look Leonard gave him in answer. His eyes were full of a seething, insidious sort of arousal that turned Pavel’s blood hot and his bones to ash until finally, Leonard broke eye contact, nodded, and said, “That’d be fine” in a voice like two sheets of paper rubbing together.

———

Pavel didn’t wait for Leonard to offer him a drink. They walked into the room, and the door was still hissing to a close when Pavel threw himself at Leonard, catching Leonard’s face with both hands and pulling him down so that Pavel could stand flat and kiss him, rough and bruising and desperate. Leonard made a deep noise that shuddered through Pavel’s body, then bent his knees and slid his hands under Pavel’s thighs, lifted him up and stumbled backward toward his couch, Pavel’s thighs clutching at Leonard’s hips so that when the backs of Leonard’s knees hit the edge of the couch, Pavel landed over him in a straddle.

Pavel licked his way inside Leonard’s mouth, twisted his hands in Leonard’s hair, and Leonard’s hands grasped Pavel’s hips, fingers splayed. Such big hands, and when Pavel tilted his hips against Leonard’s, pressing the firm lines of their cocks together through their pants, those big hands moved upward, rucking up Pavel’s shirt as they did, still holding tightly to Pavel so that they pulled at Pavel’s skin as they moved, a thrill of pain that dragged a moan from Pavel. Pavel circled his hips against Leonard’s, had to pull back from the kiss to breathe, bit his lip when he heard Leonard’s gasp echo his own.

“Pasha,” Leonard whispered against Pavel’s open mouth, “Pasha,” and he released his grip on Pavel’s waist, reached both of his hands behind his head to take Pavel’s wrists in gentle holds instead. Pavel’s stomach clenched, and he opened his eyes, found Leonard’s blown pupils staring into his, hollowing him out.

Pavel braced, ready to be pushed away, his already racing heart beating off-rhythm. Leonard pulled Pavel’s arms down, rested Pavel’s hands on Leonard’s belly, stroking the backs of Pavel’s hands with his fingers. 

“I want you,” Leonard said, and Pavel swallowed hard. “I swear to you, there’s nothing I’d rather do than flip you over and fuck you into these cushions.”

Pavel had to grit his teeth against the white-hot sparks that flared over his skin. “Well,” he mumbled.

Leonard chuckled. “Yeah, I just don’t think we ought to, not tonight.”

Pavel opened his mouth, ready to argue, and Leonard leaned in, silenced him by biting at his bottom lip. 

“I promise, it won’t be too much longer. I’d have a goddamn stroke myself. Just not tonight. All right?”

Pavel sighed, nodded, pressing his hands against Leonard’s chest and using him as leverage to get up off the couch with a modicum of grace. Leonard grunted as he took Pavel’s weight, then stood up with him, and Pavel watched Leonard adjust himself through his uniform pants with some satisfaction, some relief. Leonard did want him, he’d known that.

“If this were any other first date, I’d be walkin’ you back to yours and praying for a good-night kiss. But, I was hopin’ you’d spend another night in my bed,” Leonard said.

Pavel couldn’t help his smile. “Yes. And of course, I promise I will try to behave myself. We can put a pillow between us,” Pavel teased, “or sleep head to toe.”

Leonard laughed, shaking his head. “Nah. Well, I thought we might put Jim in between us, but he’s not what you’d call a defender of virtue.”

Pavel lit up, thinking how much he’d missed waking up to both of these men, and he nodded, but Leonard’s communicator was already in his hand.

Jim walked in less than five minutes later, shirtless and wearing a pair of striped pajama pants that he was holding up with one of his hands. Leonard shook his head in disgust, asked, “Whose are those?”

“I think they’re yours,” Jim said, looking at Leonard with one eye, the other squinted against the light. “I’ve had ‘em since the Academy, though.”

“And you were hiding them from me where?” Leonard groused, but he kissed Jim a tender hello before turning away, moving toward the bathroom.

Jim stumbled sleepily to Pavel, kissed him with his eyes closed and leaned in heavily, nuzzling Pavel’s neck. “I was dreaming about all the fun I was missing,” Jim muttered, and then pulled back, looking Pavel up and down. “Wait, you got dressed? You can’t leave, I thought—”

Leonard cackled loudly from the bathroom, interrupting Jim’s confusion. “Not everyone ends every date in their birthday suits, Jim.”

“What, you guys didn’t—”

“No,” Pavel said. “Leonard is quite maidenly, I could not even get his shirt off.”

“The word you’re lookin’ for is ‘chivalrous’, and I can tell you’ve attended the Jim Kirk school of romance, all right,” Leonard said, sticking his toothbrush in his mouth.

“I’ve never seen any of this chivalry,” Jim complained.

“Well, let me escort you to the bedroom,” Pavel offered. 

“That Jim Kirk runs a quality school,” Jim noted.

Pavel watched appreciatively as Jim dropped the over-large pants in a puddle, sliding between Leonard’s sheets with a happy, tired sigh. Pavel shucked his own clothes almost as quickly, leaving them on the floor where they fell and slipping in next to Jim and resting his arm around Jim’s waist. When Leonard flipped off the lights and joined them in his bed, he took Pavel’s other side, spooning up behind him and kissing the back of his neck softly, and Pavel wiggled his toes, thought it would take him a long time to fall asleep with such a list of things to be grateful for to recount. But he was comfortable and warm, and in reality, he fell into sleep within a few breaths.


	13. Epilogue

It wasn’t something they talked about. They had sex, different kinds of sex in varying combinations of people, and they didn’t talk about it much when they weren’t actually having it. There were blow jobs and hand jobs, there was rimming, a lot of rimming, because Jim loved to do it so, so much. There was some light 69’ing, which Jim had laughingly initiated, and when Leonard had rolled his eyes, asked, “Seriously?” Jim had said Pavel needed to try it, just so he didn’t miss out on a cultural phenomena. 

After, Pavel had been flushed and sated, had panted, “Nice,” and when Jim finished howling laughter, had agreed with Leonard that it was awkward and distracting and the least good of all the sex he’d tried.

Jim fucked Leonard and Leonard fucked Jim, and Pavel fucked Jim and Pavel fucked Leonard, they got around pretty quickly to trying just about everything except one thing. Pavel wasn’t sure what they were waiting for, sometimes went crazy with how much he wanted it, someone’s cock inside of him, but neither Jim nor Leonard had crossed that line, and Pavel could never quite bring himself to ask for it. They were all worried, maybe, about how he’d react, or how Leonard would react, that it would change something that didn’t need changing. Sometimes Pavel wished that he and Jim had done it, back when they were two separate couples, Jim and Pavel and Jim and Leonard, because maybe it was the fact that it hadn’t happened that had weighted the act with this disproportionate importance. 

But they hadn’t, and they still hadn’t, and most of the time, it didn’t matter, didn’t weigh on Pavel, wasn’t even a thought in his head. He was happy and fulfilled, he was in love. The sex was great, Pavel wouldn’t want to go without it, but there was so much more.

 

There was Leonard, just as tense and terrified as Pavel every time Jim went on an idiot’s rescue mission, apprehensive glances and held breaths exchanged across the bridge. Leonard, flapping with worry that couched itself in castigation when Jim returned, battered but whole, turmoil that Pavel could soothe with gentle hands when Leonard wouldn’t let Jim touch him.

There were three bodies under a pile of blankets when the environmental controls went haywire for 30 hours, leaving the ship cold, but inhabitable, Leonard blanketing Pavel’s body with his own when Pavel’s shivering didn’t abate soon enough for Leonard’s liking.

There was Pavel, introducing Jim and Leonard to his parents over a video comm, his mother’s sly approval when she said, “Oh, Pashenka, you have done so well for yourself.”

And also, there was sex.

———

Jim and Leonard were fucking when Pavel walked in. A late dinner with his favorite biochemist had turned into a couple of drinks, and it wasn’t late, but it was getting close to late. Jim was naked, on his back and spread out over most of the bed, his skin glimmering with sweat, and Leonard was on his knees between Jim’s bent legs, two of his fingers buried in Jim’s ass. Leonard was moving slowly, and Pavel could see the strain of extended foreplay everywhere—in Leonard’s bunched bicep and the definition of his thighs, in Jim’s tensed abdominals and his white knuckles and his cock, deep pink and so full that its veins stood out in relief. 

It wasn’t something you ever got used to seeing, and Pavel was already hard when he stripped off his clothes, climbed onto the bed and reclined against the headboard. Jim turned his head, brushed his lips over Pavel’s hip, craned to look up at Pavel, his eyes opening just long enough to convey a greeting before Jim moaned and squeezed them shut again.

Jim gasped as Leonard slid his fingers out, and Pavel bit his lip hard, watched Leonard hook Jim’s knees over his shoulders, fold Jim in half. Pavel’s pulse was throbbing with the noises Jim was making as Leonard sank inside of him, strangled cries that sounded pained and also sounded like “yes, yes, yes.”

When Pavel could look away from Jim’s face, away from all the places Leonard’s skin met Jim’s, Pavel looked at Leonard and found Leonard looking right back. Dark eyes, focused on Pavel, even as he fucked into Jim. 

“You like that?”

Leonard’s voice was thick and harsh, like the words were being scraped out of him against his will, and his eyes were still on Pavel’s, but Jim gasped “Yes.”

Leonard drew back languidly until just the head of his cock remained inside of Jim, looked down at Jim now and said, “Why don’t you tell me what it is you like? Go ahead, darlin’, beg me for it.”

“Your cock,” Jim said, words that he forced out through his teeth. “I want your cock, Bones, I want you to fuck me with it, please. Please, please.”

And then Leonard looked back at Pavel, held his eyes and said, “You like it, too, huh? You want to swap places with me, Pasha? Put your cock where Jim’s so hungry and hot?”

Pavel swallowed, nodded.

Leonard shook his head, pressed forward again, deliberately, said, “I think you look pretty happy where you are right now, watching and waiting until it’s time for clean up. You wanna eat my come outta Jim’s ass, sweetheart?”

Pavel couldn’t answer, and he couldn’t stop his hips from moving, a little upward jerk.

Leonard shook his head again, and he was moving a little faster, more forcefully and withdrew, then sank again into Jim. “No, I know. You wanna be in Jim’s place,” and a whine burst out of Jim, sharp and heated, almost drowning out Leonard’s voice.

“You want my cock in your ass, Pasha?” Leonard asked, unevenly, breathing hard with the effort he was putting into fucking Jim. “You want me to stretch you so wide you’ll feel me inside you for days? Fuck, Pavel, I wanna fill you up,” Leonard grunted.

“Jesus, fuck, Bones!” Jim shouted, reaching for him, pulling Leonard close so that his own body was bent into a tight vee, and Leonard slammed into him in earnest, and Pavel reached for his own cock and sticky, humid minutes passed while Jim came and Leonard fucked him through his silent, shuddering orgasm.

And then Leonard pulled out, his cock still hard and flushed, shining with lube and pre-come, and he moved toward Pavel, grabbed his calves and pulled him down until his head hit a pillow, his knees bent and feet flat on the bed. Leonard reached for the bedside table, squeezed lube onto his fingers, and his eyes burned in Pavel’s. 

“Yeah?” he asked, and Pavel nodded, begging with his eyes because his mouth was too dry for words.

Leonard circled Pavel’s hole with his slick, cold fingers, and Pavel shivered for a couple of reasons. 

“Wait, hey,” Jim said, rolling onto his side, still catching his breath. “Is this—shouldn’t we talk about this?”

“Oh, I’m gonna talk about it,” Leonard promised, slipping his middle finger inside Pavel just a little, just to the first joint. 

“Yeah,” Jim sighed, going a little glazed, then shaking it off. “I mean, no. I just don’t—no regrets, right?”

“Mmm,” Leonard said, pressing in deeper, to the second knuckle, “Pavel, are you gonna regret having my thick cock inside you?”

Pavel inhaled sharply, shook his head fervently.

“Great,” Leonard said, pulling his finger back, adding another and pressing them both inside Pavel as far as he could. Pavel arched, made an affirmative noise.

“Guys,” Jim said, sounding exasperated, urgent, “seriously—”

“Jim,” Pavel said, his voice shredded and impatient, “I don’t need to talk about it.”

“Yeah, I’m not actually worried about you,” Jim snapped, and Pavel blinked.

“Oh,” he said, and he lay still, panting and trying to keep himself from shoving himself down on the fingers Leonard still had buried in Pavel’s ass. He tried to think, to find some clarity past all of the want, the thrum in every nerve, the ache in his cock. “Leonard?” he asked, thinking about Leonard, fleeing him in a corridor.

“Uh-uh,” Leonard said, “I’m sure as hell not gonna wish I hadn’t fucked you.”

“You did,” Pavel said, “once.”

Leonard flinched, pulled his fingers out so quickly that Pavel’s body, trying to stop them, clenched around nothing. “It’s not even close to the same,” Leonard said.

“No,” Pavel answered quickly, feeling his pulse in his cheeks, “it’s not.”

Leonard paused, and Pavel held his breath, afraid he’d ruined the night. Then finally, Leonard said, “Great,” and stroked his slick fingers over Pavel’s opening, and Pavel moaned, his body fluttering.

Jim made another noise of protest, and Leonard snapped, “Jesus Christ, Jim, he wants it, I want it, he’s going to goddamn love it, and I’m not going to retrospectively think I’m some kind of monster for giving him exactly what he’s begging for.”

Jim nodded, breathing through his mouth thoughtfully, and said after a long minute, “Yeah, okay.”

And then Leonard was pressing in with three fingers, not more than Pavel had ever taken, but more than he did often, and it burned a little, and Pavel’s entire body caught fire. 

“Tell me you want it,” Leonard whispered, twisting his fingers slowly, waiting for Pavel to relax, to adjust, to lean in to the stretch.

“I do,” Pavel gasped. “I want you, I want you to fuck me, Leonard.”

“Mmhm, I know, sweetheart, I know. And I will,” Leonard said, trailing a finger from his free hand up Pavel’s cock. “You’ll take it so pretty.”

Pavel couldn’t stand it anymore, angled his hips to try to get more of Leonard inside of him. Leonard pulled back instead, leaving Pavel breathless and making urgent, pleading sounds. 

Leonard shushed him, and Pavel squeezed his eyes shut, and then Leonard was all over him, his entire body pressed to Pavel’s, and Leonard’s mouth was covering his, his tongue stroking its way inside of Pavel’s mouth, and Leonard’s cock was pressing inside of Pavel, hot and thick and rending. It burned so that every part of Pavel was singed, flames licking at the inside of Pavel’s eyelids, and every breath was an inhalation of scalding smoke. 

“Pasha,” Leonard was whispering, the sound fighting its way through to Pavel’s consciousness, “Sweetheart, should I stop?”

Pavel shook his head, couldn’t make a sound, but he felt like he would die, evaporate into nothing if Leonard pulled away. Leonard was still, so still, holding Pavel’s thighs high and so close to his body that his hips ached, and there were fingers in his hair that must have been Jim’s, lips pressing against his temple that must have been Jim’s, because Leonard had made space between them, not a lot but enough that Pavel could feel himself being studied.

“Please,” Pavel said, finally, when the smoke had cleared a little, when the air felt cool enough for words to shimmy out of his dry, aching throat. “Please, Leonard, please, more.”

And there was more, more of Leonard’s cock inching its way inside of him, and more of Pavel, too, to take it. He’d just started feeling like it might be too much, he didn’t remember Leonard being so big, didn’t remember feeling so full of him, so tangled together, and that was when he felt Leonard’s hips against his flesh, like Pavel had been made exactly to be filled with Leonard, to want this much and no more. He breathed a few times, and the burn subsided, and he opened his eyes and found Leonard’s stare, worried and wanting and Pavel bit his lip, smiling a little. “I like this,” Pavel said, his voice catching.

“Just getting started, Pasha,” Leonard said, his lips curving softly. He leaned in, and Pavel closed his eyes again, and Leonard started moving, little thrusts to warm Pavel up, and then deeper, and Pavel’s fingers wrapped around Leonard’s biceps, biting into the skin so hard his nails went white. 

Pavel lost track of time, of the thrusts and hip swivels that dragged moans and pleas and screams from him. Jim was next to him, breathing hard and occasionally muttering something that Pavel couldn’t parse. He couldn’t remember Leonard’s words, either, though he remembered being called greedy in a way that made him flush in a nice way, remembered Leonard saying he could live inside Pavel, saying he’d fuck Pavel every day, twice a day, every way a person could be fucked, said he didn’t know how he’d lived without this. 

Pavel dissolved under his hands, around his cock, was shaking and repeating “ya tvoy” in response to a question he didn’t know if Leonard asked outloud or with his body, and Pavel came, his feet arching so hard they cramped, his face screwed up, his body clamped around Leonard. Pavel’s cock was still pulsing weakly when Leonard came, a rush of heat inside Pavel that made his body clench again. 

Leonard collapsed on top of Pavel, still inside, hot and sweating, and Pavel could feel Leonard’s heartbeat through both of their sternums. He hoisted himself up after a few minutes of panting, hovered over Pavel and kissed him softly. “All right, Pasha?”

Pavel hummed, smiling. 

Leonard rolled off of him slowly, his soft cock slipping out of Pavel easily, and Pavel stretched, wincing against the soreness even as part of him relished it.

“Hurt anywhere?” Leonard asked, and Pavel laughed.

“Of course,” Pavel said, when he saw that Leonard was looking a little too much like Dr. McCoy, “but not in any way you should worry about.”

Leonard said, “I’ll be the judge of that,” but he relaxed, and Pavel turned his head to look at Jim.

Jim looked happy, looked intent, was hard, and he shrugged and grinned, unabashed, when he saw Pavel notice. “It was a good show,” he said, and he leaned in to kiss Pavel, added softly, “you’re so beautiful.”

Leonard snorted, leaned up on one elbow to look Jim over. “Somehow I’ve ended up in relationship with two people who’ve got the refractory periods of teenagers. It’s understandable on Pavel, Jim, but it’s almost embarrassing for you.”

Jim laughed and wiggled his hips, because never in his life had he been embarrassed about his sexual capacity. 

Pavel sat up, groaning and wrinkling his face at the sweat coating his body, the unfamiliar squish inside of him. “I’ll need a shower before any refracting in possible.”

“You go ahead, sweetheart. I’ll just give Jimmy here a blowjob, and we’ll join you.”

They did join him, and when their bodies were slick and shining under the real water shower, Jim soaped up Pavel like he was made of glass, and Leonard whispered “I love you” into the crook of Pavel’s neck, and Pavel wondered if this was what Jim and Leonard felt, every time. If they felt this empty, this whole, like they were shattered and strong.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from the song "Oil and Water" by Incubus.
> 
> This is unbeta’d, and it is flawed, and it is not compliant with any of the movies beyond the 2009 reboot. I’ve been thinking about this for a decade and writing it for months, and I can’t spend one more minute looking at it. I am who I am, so it's over written and overwrought, and I'm sorry if that's not your thing. I also apologize for bad therapy and bad jokes, for overusing jealousy to move the plot, for tense issues and POV issues, for hastily googled Russian and not being able to write Chekov’s accent (I didn’t even try), and for thinking I could write Scotty’s. 
> 
> I probably wouldn’t ever have written it, let alone edited and posted, if it weren’t for the comments and kudos I still get sometimes on “A Walking Sleep.” Thanks for every one of them. <3
> 
> When I was a teenager, I read a series of Star Trek: Voyager stories that changed forever the way I look at fictional love triangles. Close the corners, y’all, and make it a threesome.


End file.
